Five of Swords
by Polly
Summary: The ghosts of our past mistakes have a way of coming back to haunt us when we least expect it. But are they strong enough to tear apart the bond of friendship? Sequel to 'The Road Ahead'.
1. Chapter 1

**Five of Swords**

Standard Disclaimer applies – I don't own them.

A/N – Well, here we are on the next step of the journey. This is set in the same series as _The Start of Something _and not a lot of this will make sense if you're coming to this new. Though, of course, you're more than welcome to give it a go.

Thank you SO much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter of _The Road Ahead. _I know, traditionally, last chapters are usually ignored on the review-front so I'm really grateful to everyone who dropped me a line and very glad people enjoyed the story. Thank you also to _Ash_ and _Angel_ who I can't thank through a pm – I hope this story doesn't disappoint :-)

Chapter 1

Lightning streaked the dark sky in jagged, angry bolts as the rain lashed down in torrents upon the hills outside the sleeping city of Atlantis. Lightning-Thrower Zeus was in full form, hurling his thunderbolts so that they illuminated the landscape in dazzling blues and whites. It was a night to avoid at all costs, a night to huddle before the warm hearth, swapping stories with friends and family and soothing restless, frightened children to sleep as rich and poor alike, cowered in their beds.

Flocks of sheep huddled under the hill's large ash tree and as the traveller passed them, they paid him little attention, bleating softly to each other. The terrain was treacherous, the rain causing the earth to shift and slip. Digging his boots into the soil, the man found purchase with the studded leather soles and paused a moment, head bowed against the driving rain, hitting him in horizontal slants. He wrapped his woollen cloak tighter around him and pressed onwards towards the city. It looked so peaceful sitting there below, nestled in-between valleys and mountains. The traveller soaked it in, even as the rain soaked his hat, dripping down the back of his neck and running along the scar that in turn, ran the length of his cheek. It had been too long since he had last laid eyes on this city, since he had last felt its stone firm beneath his feet, since he had heard its people's voices crying out as one, since he had spilt its blood and seen the very heart of it ripped in two.

And now, it was time to see him again. It was time to come home.

* * *

><p>"When I'm on the House of Re-Atoum, do I have to throw an <em>exact<em> two, or can it be two or higher?"

Jason stared at the different coloured discs on his senet board, a present brought as one amongst many from a recent Egyptian envoy to Atlantis. The game had, of course, been intended for Minos and Pasiphae but Jason had been so taken with it, playing with anyone who would stop long enough to let him twist their arm, that his parents had soon, quite happily, relinquished it to him. It did not matter to Jason that he was currently playing against himself – _one_ of his sets of discs had to be the winner and there were still a few niggily rules that he had trouble remembering.

From across his private Council Chambers, Minos glanced up. The king was seated at his desk, absently sorting through legal disputes and petitions to the court. "An exact two," he informed the young man, briefly.

Jason grinned as his sticks landed in just the right combination, happily moving his black disc off the board. For some reason that game, he was favouring his black discs more than his red ones and was pleased to see that nearly all seven were now safely home. "Thank you," he belatedly called, picking up the four sticks again to throw against the table for his next move. He let out a quietly irritated exclamation as the resulting score of three swapped one of his red pieces for a black, sending his black disc all the way back to square fifteen. "Don't worry, little buddy," he muttered under his breath. "I'll get you off the board soon."

"You do realise, Jason that this does not appear to be the History you are studying for your examination next week?"

Jason's fingers froze, holding the sticks in mid-throw. Safe in the knowledge that his back was to the king, he winced. "Would you believe me, Sire, if I told you it was finished?"

"Would you be offended if I told you, no?" With a reluctant sigh, Jason put down the sticks and turned to face his stepfather. Minos regarded him passively, over steepled fingers. Over time, through unofficial arrangements, Jason often came from his lessons to these chambers to work on his exercises and this usually coincided with the time Minos had set aside to work on civic matters. It was a quiet, productive time spent with the boy – sharing occasional exchanges of conversation, offering an opinion on something that either one or the other of them was working on, or simply working in companionable silence. Or like today, listening to the continual clatter of sticks on a table-top and watching the young prince idle his time away on his latest obsession.

"Would it be alright if I just finished this game, first?" Jason asked. "It's nearly over." He looked sincerely, but hopefully to the king and Minos sighed, shaking his head. _How_ this simple game could hold this boy's attention for so long, was beyond him. Jason was not exactly known for his ability to sit and concentrate indoors. But, Minos considered, with the winter months upon them, it was good that Jason found more ways to occupy his time, out of the more biting temperatures and strong winds. Last night's storms had been a fine example of why his stepson would soon have to spend much less time wandering the Palace grounds whenever his restless nature sprung up.

"Very well," he acquiesced, with fond exasperation. "Though I give you fair warning that if your mother enters and finds you playing this game _again_, I shall deny ever having granted you permission."

The king was rewarded with a wide grin from his stepson. "Don't worry, Sire: I'll protect you."

Minos had begun to look back to his papers when his eyes widened at the boy's response and then he smiled, in spite of himself. Shaking his head, ruefully, he pointed a stern finger at the lad: "Play your game, _little prince_, before I change my mind."

"Thank you Sire," Jason called once more, chuckling softly as he went back to his discs. The king shook his head once more, mildly amazed and amused at the lad's impudence and returned his attention to his papers. At that moment, a knock at the door sounded.

"Enter," Minos called, a hint of irritation darkening his voice. This was generally not a time that he liked to be disturbed unless on urgent business and this fact was clearly understood amongst his servants. One of his personal aides entered and bowed.

"Your Majesty," he began, only too aware that this was a time when his master preferred his solitude. Although, he had to concede that the young man sitting by the window was an unusual, enduring addition to the king's quiet ritual. "Minister Seminos requests an audience with you at your earliest convenience." Minos scowled and sighed heavily, noting the way Jason had rolled his eyes when he had heard who it was who petitioned his time. The boy was _not_ the greatest supporter of his chief advisor and Minos had the distinct impression that unless Seminos made a concerted effort with his stepson, then when the time came for Jason to take the throne (and Minos found that he did not like to consider the possibility that Jason would not), Seminos would be one of the first advisors to be shown the door. Or the dungeon, though that really wasn't in Jason's nature.

"I take it this is an _urgent_ matter?" Minos pressed, leaning back in his chair.

The servant nodded. "The minister insists his query is of vital importance and requires Your Majesty's urgent attention."

From where he sat, eyes on his game, Jason snorted very quietly and though it was under his breath, Minos distinctly heard: "Just tell him he needs to put his _right_ arm in the _right_ sleeve hole…" The king smoothly rose to his feet and moved to stand by his stepson, glaring at the back of the boy's head. Jason instinctively scrunched a little lower in his chair as Minos addressed his servant.

"Very well. You may send him in." The man bowed and left to convey the news to the waiting Seminos.

Once the doors had shut and they were alone again, Minos promptly delivered a sharp tap to the back of Jason's head making him emit a quiet hiss. Jason didn't bother to claim ignorance for the rebuke and had the good grace to appear slightly abashed, even if he _still_ maintained that Seminos was a self-important fool. He swivelled to look up at Minos, the hint of contrition on his face and though Minos appeared stern, there was still a distant gleam in his eye. "Jason," Minos announced, briskly. "Give us the room, please. You may work in the parlour and assuming Seminos' matter is relatively brief, rejoin me when the meeting is done." Nodding, Jason rose and carefully gathered up his game, balancing the board between his hands so that the discs did not slide off. However, Minos shook his head.

"Leave the game, Jason and take your work." Jason whined very quietly and looked imploringly to him but this time, Minos was resolute. "You know as well as I do that your work must be finished before you leave to return to your friends and you do _not_ have many hours left before midday." He looked meaningfully at his stepson. "So unless you are intending to remain here into the afternoon you will turn your attention to that work in your bag." He watched as a mild look of alarm crossed the young man's face at the thought of staying behind to finish his work. No matter how steadily – and with some surprise – he was growing to love his family there was never a time when he was not looking forward to returning to his friends. Quickly, yet carefully, Jason did as instructed and lowered the board back down onto the table.

"Alright, I'm going," he relented. He scooped up his leather satchel and slung it over his shoulder. With one last glance to his game, he turned hesitantly to Minos: "You won't have it cleared away, will you?"

Minos rolled his eyes, already placing one hand on his back and ushering him towards the door. "Your game shall remain just as it is. Now be off with you and work hard." And with one last gentle shove, Jason left, with any luck, to work on his schooling. Minos smiled softly to himself as the door clicked shut behind the boy. As he passed the game board, he was very tempted to throw those sticks and move one of the pieces, just to see if the boy noticed. And he imagined that he _would_. No, Minos thought. He would save that battle for another time. And so with a reluctant sigh, the king re-seated himself at his desk and waited to receive his minister and his ever so urgent business.

* * *

><p>Pasiphae marched briskly down the Palace corridor, leading from her chambers. As her blue robes swished about her ankles, servants nodded to her and then scrambled to part ways for the queen. She did not even treat them to a sideways glance, even the ones who dared bid her good day. The queen's mood was dark that day and none could fathom the reason why: none had been foolhardy enough to enquire and Minos, perhaps through careful intention and perhaps through honest circumstance, had not been near his wife to ask. He could not avoid the storm for much longer, however: the midday meal soon approached, the kitchens already bringing sumptuous dishes into the dining room. Soon, Ariadne would return from the Temple, having completed her duties in offering that morning's sacrifices and prayers, Jason would be off to his friends in the city and Minos and Pasiphae would finally meet to say 'Good Morning' around the table.<p>

Pasiphae rounded a corner and pulled up short with an irritated sigh. Balanced on ladders, servants were busy replacing the oil in the wall lamps and trimming the wicks. Their coarse cloths were spread over the intricately tiled floors to avoid spillages and Pasiphae had no intention of either walking over a soiled ground-cloth, _nor_ of sidling her way past workmen who _should_ have done this task before they retired the night before. Or else risen early to have completed it before the family awoke. Immediately, the men paled and hurried down the ladder, muttering apologies that they knew the queen was not interested in hearing and hastily gathered up the cloth and their ladders, pressing themselves back against the wall to allow her room to pass. Pasiphae sighed once more as she watched their efforts with a glare, tapping her foot sharply on the floor. She had no time for incompetent servants that day – the men should have a day's wages docked for such ineptitude though she had neither the time nor inclination to see to it.

Finally, when the obstruction was clear, Pasiphae strode past, leaving the men sighing in relief. Pasiphae herself could not pinpoint the exact cause of her ill mood that day. She had awoken feeling relatively balanced and rested though as the morning had worn on, small almost insignificant worries had occurred one after the other, each one eating away at her patience until finally, her tolerance and good will – such as they were – had been all but obliterated. Suddenly, she heard a very familiar young voice up ahead, just around the corner:

"Alright. Thanks – I'll see you later." A moment later, a door off the corridor opened and shut. Pasiphae narrowed her eyes as she listened to Jason and whoever it was he had been speaking to. He would never dare address Minos in such a casual manner and Ariadne was still at the temple. That meant he had been speaking to either one of the guards or the servants. She stopped and felt the annoyance sweep through her. She had spoken to him time and time again about his over-familiarity with the servants and she was sick of it! The boy just did not listen and seemed unable to understand that it was inappropriate. Even the _noble_ Ariadne knew how to be fair to servants without lowering herself to their status. Why could Jason not learn from his beloved princess – she who could do no wrong - if he refused to believe his parents?

Anger prickled her blood and, though a tiny part of her reasoned that she was being unfair and that she would soon regret her anger once she had calmed down, the more dominant part of Pasiphae began to stew. The boy _never_ listened – he was getting more and more wilful every day and she allowed it! And Minos? He practically indulged her son's every whim, his every moment of defiance with merely a calm shake of the head or worse, an amused expression! No wonder Jason danced to his own tune. They had forgotten the boundaries. Well perhaps the time had come to remind the boy of a few? These rules were there for a reason and maybe some short, sharp punishment would help? Not that Minos could be counted on for help in such matters. He was too weak. But then, punishing Jason may not be as effective as punishing those servants he became too familiar with.

She could still hear Jason slowly milling down the corridor ahead of her, making his way to where she currently stood. He was whistling one of those unfamiliar tunes she had often heard him do: normally she quite enjoyed listening to her son, but today it was yet another thing to darken her mood. _Princes_ should not whistle like common labourers. If Jason wanted to be musical, she would buy him a lyre!

At that moment her son rounded the corner and stopped when he saw his mother, smiling brightly at her. Her black mood was written all over her face and in her tense frame and yet Jason still grinned at her – he was possibly the only one in the Palace who was not put off by her more dangerous moods. Reluctantly, she felt a little of her ire soften in the face of her son's bright innocence and at his willingness to risk her mood. She held back on the verbal lambasting she had been prepared to unleash on the young man for his behaviour as she also did on confining him to his chambers for the duration of the day – a repercussion that she knew for a fact, drove her active son to near distraction. But she did not smile at him either.

Still, Jason approached her. "Hi," he greeted. "I was just getting ready to leave."

Pasiphae's face did not move, not even to arch an eyebrow in her habitual manner. "I see. It is too much to ask that you might have come to say goodbye? Or are manners something else that it is too much trouble for you to remember?"

Jason hesitated. He'd heard rumours going around that morning that his mother was in a bad mood. Apparently, the rumours weren't wrong. "I was just coming to find you," he clarified, hoping to see a crack in his mother's mask: he was usually quite good at wheedling and cajoling her out of her tempers.

"Indeed." Pasiphae's stare did not reduce in its intensity and Jason sighed. Apparently, he would not be successful today. He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong but all he could do was ride it out until she dismissed him. It was clear that today, he would _not_ be getting any fond farewells and warm hugs, so Jason simply gave a short bow.

"Goodbye then," he muttered. "See you in a few days." Before he could leave, however, Pasiphae's sharp voice stopped him like a barricade.

"I have spoken to Master Acrion, this morning."

Jason felt his gut tighten. That probably wasn't good news, regardless of the mood his mother was in. Sighing, he turned back around to face her, knowing their conversation was not over.

"He tells me you are _failing_ your examinations – in Politics and Law, in History, in Translation." Jason glanced down to the floor. Acrion had been rapidly losing patience with him for some time now and Jason had wondered how long it would be before the old man spoke to his mother. "Your work," Pasiphae continued, her voice like iron, "is completed either late or to a standard that a _ten-year old_ would blush to achieve."

Jason ground his teeth. "I _am_ trying," he protested but Pasiphae scoffed.

"You _began_ your studies at a higher level than you are working at now. The effort you put in to your work is nearly non-existent." Jason felt his face begin to burn – as much as he hated to admit it, his mother's words were true. He sighed once more.

"Fine," he ground out. "I'll try harder."

"See that you do. You have an examination on your return?"

Jason nodded, tersely.

"Then I shall look forward to seeing a renewed effort and success."

"Is that all, Your Highness?"

A small part of Pasiphae blanched at the formal, distant title Jason addressed her by. He had yet to call her 'Mother' as she longed to hear him say, but Jason at least usually called her by her _name_, with some measure of affection. _You cannot blame the boy_, that small part of the queen told herself – _your temper is keeping him at arm's length_.

But Pasiphae merely gave a short nod, adding as she did so. "Storms are setting in on the horizon. If the skies are heavy in three days' time, you are not to travel to your father. You may remain in the city instead."

At that, Jason bristled, even as he felt his heart sink. "I want to see him," he protested. "I don't care about the storms and I've missed too many days with dad as it is, while I was sick."

Pasiphae rolled her eyes and pressed her lips tightly together. She should have known Jason would argue when presented with common sense – he usually did but she was in no mood for it today. But more than that, it was with some reluctance that she had come to realise, over the last month or so, that Jason had begun to address Aeson by the term for a father that he had told her about, just after the Games: _Dad_. A silly name really but to Jason, it meant everything. So Aeson had managed to progress from his first name to the familiar title of a father. And _she_ was still _Pasiphae_, or worse, _Your Majesty_. Even when her mood was kind and loving, she still could not break through the last of those barriers between them, though she often felt that they were _nearly_ there.

But today, she admitted to herself, would certainly not be that day. "And your loyalty is touching," she almost sneered, "but it does not lessen your stupidity." If she noticed Jason flinch, she made no show of it. "No man, healthy or not, should travel under those conditions, especially not to a mountainous region." For the most part, Jason's strength had returned though there was a lingering reluctance to eat that sometimes worried the queen. Perhaps his constitution was not yet back to what it should be? "Now if you cannot be ruled by your common sense then I shall assign a guard to escort you during your time in the city."

She watched Jason fire up, his burning indignation warring with his understanding that an out and out fight with Pasiphae would _never_ end in his favour. For a moment, his mother watched him, looking at the way his shoulders tensed and his hands clenched by his sides. She wondered, briefly, if they were to travel down that path they had taken on a previous occasion when she and Jason had butted heads in a spectacular fashion: though she had managed to keep a tight control on her own temper, the increasing volume of his voice and the frankly crude language that he hurled at her had only ended when Minos himself had heard the commotion and promptly whisked Jason away to his chambers for some very strong words on how he addressed his mother.

However, it appeared Jason either remembered that particular occasion as well, or he finally admitted some sense because after a moment, he briefly dropped his head and nodded. "Fine," he muttered again. "I won't go if the weather's bad." He paused. "So I can go now?"

For a brief moment, Pasiphae considered softening their parting, placing a hand on his cheek, trying to make her son feel a little better about the restrictions placed on his movements or about the lecture she had given him on his studies. But the last of her anger still left her chilled and she simply gave a short nod and stepped aside. She could not, however, resist watching him as he moved past her and despite her annoyance that, even at this late stage, Pasiphae knew was not really directed at Jason, the queen's eyes softened and looked with tenderness and regret: an apology in its infant stage.

Jason felt something clench in his heart as he hurried past his mother. He hadn't missed the look she had given him as he had passed her – there may have been no words, but he understood what she silently tried to tell him: she would miss him, she was sorry, she still loved him. And even though the space between them saddened him, Jason still took some warm comfort from the gesture. As he hurried up to his room to grab his bag, Jason mulled it over: he knew it was his mother's temper and nothing more. She would be all smiles and hugs again when she saw him next and would probably apologise for her lapse in patience with words this time, rather than just a regretful look. But he still hated leaving her like this. He had become quite used to the loving relationship they shared and was amazed by how he now took that relationship for granted. But every now and then, like a bad habit that she was struggling to break, a glimmer of the old queen still had a way of crushing him.

* * *

><p>Jason readjusted the weight of his bag on his shoulder as he darted his way through the agora, dodging the odd rolling apple that fell off one of the fruit stands. He had already stopped to pick up a skein of wine and had checked it was carefully stoppered before stowed it in his bag. There wasn't a lot of room in it this time around – his rolls of History took up a fair amount of space. Jason considered the scrolls with a rueful smile. It had been some time since he had brought his lessons home with him. But it would go some way to mending the odd broken board of a bridge with her if he could at least pass his next exam. Despite what he told himself, it really <em>wasn't<em> beyond his ability to pass but Pasiphae had been right – he really hadn't been putting the effort in lately like he knew he should.

An engaging cry from a market-seller named Thebus suddenly drew Jason's attention to his left. The man had recently set-up shop in the agora a few weeks ago much to the delight of Hercules: he sold all concoctions of meat pies and sweet pastries and his wrestler friend had managed, on returning from the market with both pockets and cheeks bulging, to sing the man's praises, without cessation for nearly an hour. Eventually, Pythagoras had wandered off to the table to do some work on his equations and Jason had begun to sharpen the swords. But they had both been unable to avoid hearing their friend's ongoing accolade. Jason paused, watching the short, wiry man animatedly encouraging passers-by to sample his wares, wondering whether to purchase a couple of pies for Hercules and Pythagoras. For some reason, Pasiphae had now instructed the Palace kitchens to send a hamper of food to their house on the morning of Jason's first day in the city. Jason's wasn't sure why she had suddenly started doing this when he had always fared perfectly well before her gifts. But, she refused to listen to his insistence that they didn't need it and, truth be told, Jason didn't have the heart to insist _too_ earnestly. Not only did it seem to please his mother but Hercules was over the moon with the regular deliveries. Jason wasn't sure whether someone in the kitchen staff still remembered the wrestler from Medusa's time as a kitchen maid or whether Pasiphae herself had given the instruction, but there was always a couple of pies and flasks of wine in the mix.

Thebus caught his hovering eye and gave him a friendly, strategic wave. With a rueful grin, Jason waved back. Thebus was an enterprising salesman, Jason thought to himself but he might as well indulge him– an extra pie in the house would never go to waste. So, wandering over to the stall, he picked out two rather full meat pies, the gravy spilling through the seams of the top-crust and handed over a couple of coins. Once the pies were securely wrapped up for him, he carried on his way, their heat pleasantly warming his hands on that chilly afternoon.

Breaking in to a jog, partly for warmth and partly to get the pies home before they cooled, Jason soon closed the distance between the agora and the house. It wasn't long before he was trotting up the stairs of their house and reached out a hand for the front door. However, before he could push it open, the door had already swung open. Jason stopped short, his hand hovering in mid-air and blinking in surprise as Hercules suddenly stepped through the door, pulling it part-way closed behind him. There wasn't actually much room for them both, perched there on the top step but Jason took a small step back nevertheless and Hercules pressed himself a little further against the door. Grinning, Jason thrust the two pies at his friend.

"Delivery," he announced, cheerfully. "I know the basket from the Palace has probably already come but I was passing Thebus in the market and thought that you and Pythagoras would probably enjoy these."

Hercules' hands accepted the bundle that was being thrust at him, almost automatically, and Jason grinned at his friend's momentary confusion. The man's mouth opened uncertainly for a moment, his heavy brow furrowing. Finally, after silently stammering for a few seconds, Hercules seemed to find his voice.

"Jason?" he asked. Then he seemed to notice the pies in his hands and Jason's earlier greeting filtered through. "Uh, thanks." He nodded to the pies but far from looking pleased or excited as Jason had rather been hoping he would, Hercules simply looked…awkward. And he was still standing on the doorstep, blocking Jason's entrance to the house.

"You're welcome," Jason replied, trying hard not to voice his confusion. "Were you going out?" He eyed the man's attire appraisingly. He wasn't wearing his cloak, or his jerkin and it was decidedly nippy out there. As if following Jason's train of thought, Hercules shook his head.

"No, I uh, I saw you coming down the street." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Jason raised a puzzled eyebrow.

"And you thought you would open the door for me? That's very nice of you but I haven't been in the Palace _that_ long – I _can_ still open my own doors." He had aimed for levity, hoping to see his friend smile back and make a disparaging joke about Palace-life, as he usually did. But instead, Hercules' eyes were almost distant. There must have been a sound from inside the house, although Jason couldn't hear it, because Hercules suddenly half turned back to the crack in the door. His movements were sharp, jumpy.

Jason narrowed his eyes. "Hercules? Is everything alright? You seem…strange." It was also getting rather cold standing on the doorstep and Jason would rather like to get inside where he was sure a nice warm fire was crackling. His friend's peculiar behaviour had him wondering though: was there something wrong with the house? A thought struck him: was there something wrong with _Pythagoras_ that Hercules didn't want him worrying about. "Is Pythagoras okay?" he asked, worry making his voice sharp. But Hercules immediately nodded and, although still distracted, his manner was sincere and there was an attempt there to calm his wild thoughts.

"He's fine," Hercules assured his friend. "Everything's fine."

Jason breathed a sigh of relief. "So can we go inside then? It's freezing out here." He made to step forward, expecting Hercules to either step back, opening the door as he did so, or else to step aside, allowing Jason to walk past him. But the dark-haired lad was forced to abruptly abort the movement when Hercules did _not_ move and Jason almost stepped on his toes instead. Frowning, Jason smiled uncertainly. "So what's going on?"

In front of him, Hercules took a deep breath. "We, uh…we have a visitor," he explained. His voice was guarded and hesitant. Jason raised an eyebrow. Hercules and Pythagoras had several friends though-out Atlantis but they rarely came to call. Trying to imagine who it was, Jason asked:

"Oh right. Who?" One of Hercules' drinking buddies perhaps. But that wouldn't explain why Hercules was being so mysterious. Unless Hercules owed this man money and he had come to collect? A sudden wave of angry protectiveness washed over Jason and he felt his hackles rising. If there was a bully of a man inside their home right now, in the middle of threatening his friend, Jason knew he would do his utmost to tear him to pieces. _No-one_ threatened his friends…even if the likes of Hercules _did_ sometimes deserve it. But, perhaps seeing the darkening of Jason's expression and the dangerous suspicion, Hercules waved away his concern.

"You don't know him. He's…" His voice faltered a moment, his expression almost torn. "He's my brother, Iphicles. He arrived here late last night and I…" Hercules glanced unhappily back towards the house. "I felt I had to give him a place to stay," he finished, awkwardly. On hearing this, Jason grinned, clapping his friend on the arm.

"I didn't know you had a brother!" he exclaimed. Hercules with a brother? Jason shook his head at the thought. Would the man be anything like his burly friend? Jason tried to picture him in his mind. Perhaps he had a few stories he could tell him about when Hercules was younger? Jason smiled at the thought: Hercules had told him and Pythagoras a few but somehow, Jason never quite knew what to believe. He looked squarely at Hercules. "That's great. I can't wait to meet him." Again, thinking the preparation that had kept him on the threshold for so long was now complete, Jason made a show of moving forward again. He was surprised when, once more, Hercules stayed put, shooting him an apologetic look.

"He'd been travelling a long way," Hercules explained, contrition written over his face, "and he was rather cold and wet…" He trailed off a moment but in the space that followed, Jason supplied:

"So you gave him my bed?" He watched Hercules nod but waved away his friend's concern. "That's fine – I figured you would have. Don't worry. I don't mind putting some straw and sacking on the floor and sleeping there for a couple of nights." Curiously, Jason tried to peer around Hercules to the crack in the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of this mysterious Iphicles. But his somewhat bulky companion was rather hard to circumvent, Jason realised with a frown.

"I know you wouldn't, but I couldn't ask you to do that." Something in Jason's stomach began to twist. He looked at Hercules with the first slivers of alarm as the man continued. "Not like you're used to sleeping on the floor any more."

Jason almost recoiled from those words, as if he had been stung. Hercules frequently teased him about such matters but somehow, this felt more _weighted_. Had he _really_ changed that much? Jason tried to think – he cast his mind back over the last few months, evaluating his behaviour. Had he been acting differently around his friends? Putting on airs? Pretending he was in any way too good for them? The mere thought made him cringe or inexplicably want to weep. God, he if had, he'd never intended to! What must his friends think of him? But then…The more Jason thought about it, the more he felt his indignation and hurt grow: he _hadn't_ changed – he hadn't! Whenever he came back, he was always _so_ grateful to be back home amongst his friends again and it always felt so natural, slipping back into his old habits, becoming the young man they all knew once more.

But Hercules still barred his entrance and now Jason began to feel a different type of chill seep inside him. "The place is rather full," Hercules explained, not quite able to meet Jason's eyes for more than a half-second flicker at a time. "I'm sure you understand. But, you know: I'm sure the Palace will have you back – not like they're going to run out of room." The older man attempted to laugh but he couldn't quite follow through with it so that it ended up sounding like an abrupt cough. Jason simply stared at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes, trying hard to wrap his head around the events. But before he had a chance to utter a word, Hercules quickly stepped back inside the house, fumbling behind his back to open the door as he did so, not even able to meet Jason's gaze. For a brief moment, warm, golden light flooded out of the opened door, as Hercules sidled inside and Jason caught a quick glimpse of the familiar wooden table and chairs, already set up for the midday meal. An unfamiliar cloak lay draped across one of the chairs.

And then the door shut, closing out his home and the warmth and the light and leaving Jason standing, head reeling, on the step.

* * *

><p>That's it for now. If you've decided to give this story a go and actually made it this far, then thank you. If you feel like letting me know what you think, I'd love to hear from you.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Five of Swords

Standard disclaimer applies.

Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who has joined me for this story and for your fabulous feedback for chapter one – it's been _very_ encouraging for writing the next chapter! Thank you also to those I can't respond to privately: _Agasthi_, _Ash_; _gotanygrapes_ (yes, Hercules _is_ being a bit shifty but, as you say, time will tell ;-)) and _Angel_ (I can't see Pasiphae being pleased her son was turfed out of his home either, to be honest!).

I hope people enjoy chapter 2 – it's a little long, but hopefully you'll forgive that.

Chapter 2

Dumbly, he stumbled backwards a step, grabbing on to the railing and descending the stairs back onto the street. His chest hurt and his eyes stung with tears but Jason pressed his lips tightly together and refused to let them fall. It shouldn't be surprising, he told himself firmly: it's not your house – never was. If Hercules doesn't have room for you, he doesn't have to _make_ room for you. You're lucky he lets you stay there at all. But even as he told himself this, it made his heart ache all the more. Numbly, Jason glanced back towards the direction of the Palace. However the thought of circumventing his mother's foul mood was more than he had the stomach for at the moment and Minos had a kingdom to run. He couldn't be wasting his time listening to a stepson bleat on about his own pathetic problems. Even the thought of Ariadne, surprisingly, could not rally his spirits.

Instinctively, Jason turned towards the opposite direction to where the narrow path would lead him to the Northern Gate and back to where his father lived. For the first time that day, Jason felt himself smile again. The weather may well be bad in three days' time, but right now, though a little chilly, the sky was a bright, clear blue. Aeson wasn't expecting him for another four days but as Jason and his father usually savoured every hour they had of their day, he was almost grinning with the thought of what they could do with an extra three days! Jason made up his mind: he would surprise his father and set off for the mines of Pangeon now. It might mean travelling through the night but he had his traveling cloak and anything was better than returning to the Palace, having been dismissed from his home. If Pasiphae ever found out he was turned away from Hercules' house, Jason was grimly certain that she would never let it go. So, with purposeful strides, Jason set off for the Northern Road.

* * *

><p>As the door clicked shut behind Hercules, he stood with his back to it for several long moments, feeling his heart in his chest and his stomach churning. He sent up a silent prayer to the Gods before finally moving, almost robotically, towards the table. The big man leant forwards, intending to rest the palms of his hands on the surface of it and only just remembered in time that he still held the two pies. With measured precision, he placed the two small bundles on the tables where they quietly steamed. The radiating heat suddenly reminded Hercules of how cold it was outside, compared to in and he felt himself shudder.<p>

"Was that Jason?"

The bright voice from behind him made Hercules spin round to the sound. Pythagoras approached with a pot of stew balanced carefully between his hands, wrapped in a thick cloth. He deposited it on the table, eyeing the newest addition of the two pies with quiet interest. Hercules however, appeared to be on the back foot.

"Huh?" he questioned. Inside, his heart was still pounding and his gut twisting horribly. The look of confusion and hurt on Jason's face was one that he was sure, would keep him awake that night.

"Jason," Pythagoras repeated. "I heard the door and I thought it was him." The young mathematician glanced out through the balcony at the street below. "He's usually here by now." Looking over to the cloak draped across the chair, Pythagoras frowned at the mess to his freshly laid table and gathered it over his arm, moving to hang it on a hook on the wall. The task done, he turned back expectantly to Hercules. The man still stared at him, his expression decidedly uncomfortable. Wariness itched at Pythagoras' agile and frankly suspicious mind.

"Hercules?" he questioned once more, a harder note to his voice this time. "You haven't answered my question: was that Jason?" A thought suddenly struck him. "Was he the one who brought those pies there? He knows how much you love Thebus' wares." The wrestler glanced down at his feet and took a deep breath.

"Yes," he confirmed.

Pythagoras smiled, relaxed. "Oh good. Has he popped back to the agora for something? Only I'm almost ready to start serving." He looked about for Jason's bag that was usually dumped right by the front door or else, occasionally, deposited on his bed. However, he couldn't see it in either place. Perhaps Jason took it with him for some reason?

"Where's Iphicles?" Hercules question was sharp, eyes darting wildly about the room as if the man in question had been lurking around the corner the whole time. Pythagoras' blue eyes widened in surprise, both at the abrupt change in topic and at his friend's slightly wild demeanour.

"He went out while you were collecting the wood for the fire. He has taken a walk before the meal. He said he would not be long." He thought a moment. "I suppose he was warm enough without his cloak and besides, it's still soaked through." With a sigh, Pythagoras belatedly realised that he should have set it hanging over the fire as soon as he had woken up. The wool was thick and would take an age to dry in these tepid temperatures. But back to his original concern: he was looking forward to seeing their friend once more. The arrival late last night of the bedraggled, towering stranger had at first alarmed him. Even when the strange man had introduced himself and Hercules had, somewhat hesitantly, welcomed him inside, something still felt amiss. Though, he supposed, he himself was no stranger to somewhat strained relationships with siblings. However, Pythagoras was very much looking forward to hearing Jason's opinion on their mysterious new guest. Jason had an eye for things like that and Pythagoras could use his co-conspirator.

"Will Jason be gone long in the market? I do hope he has not gone out to get wine: there were three skeins of it in the delivery from the Palace this week. Though I suppose with an extra mouth to feed and water, it will not go to waste." The young genius refrained from voicing his thought that if Hercules' brother was in any way like the man himself, then three extra skeins of wine were _not_ going to be enough to satiate their appetites.

In-front of him, Hercules still stood, silent. The large man shifted restlessly on the spot before clearing his throat. "Uh, Jason wasn't stopping. He's gone back to the Palace for a bit." The words fell heavily into the room. Pythagoras shook his head as if to clear it.

"I'm sorry. I don't follow. Jason came and _went_?" Surely he had to have heard that wrongly. Jason never missed a day – not while he was well enough to travel. "Was he ill?"

Hercules shook his head, sensing the young genius begin to darken, dangerously. "He's not ill," he assured his friend, the explanation halting on his lips. It was tempting, _very tempting_, to claim that leaving had been Jason's choice but ultimately, Hercules knew, he couldn't do that: not to his absent friend's reputation nor to his other friend's feelings. "I asked him to give us a couple of days," he mumbled, trying for all the world to sound as though it had been a perfectly rational request. "You know," he added, rather desperately, "the place is crowded enough with _three_ people." He gave a short laugh as Pythagoras' blue eyes turned to ice. "He'll be much more comfortable at the Palace and we'll see him again in a few days. By that time, Iphicles will have moved on to wherever it is that he's going and we'll all be back to normal."

If Hercules had hoped that his rationale of logistics, hosting skills and general comfort would go some way to abating the storm of his young companion's reaction, he was very much mistaken. Pythagoras had listened to the man's faltering explanation silently: first with a kind of dumb numbness but then very quickly with a burgeoning fire of outrage. By the time Hercules had finished speaking, Pythagoras was as red-faced as Hercules had ever seen him when he wasn't suffering from heat-stroke. His thin, diminutive frame had somehow morphed into a colossal statue. But more than that, it was the eyes that stood out the most: they were as cold as Hercules would have thought possible on a face that burned so brightly with indignation.

"You _sent Jason away_?" Pythagoras demanded. "Our friend? You actually said there was no room for him?"

"Well," Hercules tried to intercede, gesturing around the room, "there really…"

"In his _own home_?" The blonde-haired man rounded squarely on his older friend, thin arms trembling beneath his oversized tunic sleeves. "Or is this _your home_ again now? You choose who comes and goes? Should I be prepared to pack my bags at a moment's notice? Give you and your brother some room?"

A look of hurt crossed Hercules' face and he opened his mouth to protest that he would _never_ ask Pythagoras to leave – that, technically, he hadn't asked _Jason_ to leave, either. Not permanently. Just for a little while. But Pythagoras swept on before he had a chance to put voice to his defences.

"I cannot understand you! I thought we were a family. There was even a time once when I wondered if you were becoming quite…_possessive_! That you would do this…"

Shaking his head sadly, Pythagoras went to the door, opened it and looked outside, scanning up and down the street. A sea of heads bobbed up and down the narrow alleyway but none of them looked like Jason. His dark-haired friend was certainly swift-footed and if he had been upset at being turned away from his home – as Pythagoras strongly suspected he would have been – then Jason was likely to have moved even faster.

Rounding back on the friend who he could almost strangle at this point, Pythagoras glared at him. "Bring him back, this instant!" he demanded, hotly. "You tell him what an ignorant, un-thinking fool you have been and that he is, _as always_, more than welcome amongst his _family_, in his _home_. You say whatever it takes – but you bring him back."

The young man was breathing heavily now and glowering at his older friend. Hercules tried not to swallow, reflexively, as Pythagoras' words hit him squarely in the chest. By the Gods, he already felt wretched enough! Couldn't his genius friend understand that?

"He'll be at the Palace by now," he protested. "I'll never get past the guards." He watched Pythagoras continue to seethe but noticed, with mixed feelings, that logic was beginning to war with his young friend's anger: rationality could never be denied access to Pythagoras for long. The anger was slowly giving way to hurt, inch by inch though Hercules' heart ached to see it there, shining in those bright eyes.

"Besides, he gets an extra few days with his princess, eh?" He winked suggestively at his sombre friend.

Pythagoras did _not_ smile. Hercules sighed, wearily. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I _really_ am. I made a mistake. When Jason comes back in a few days, I'll apologise." The genius' gaze was still hard making it plain that Hercules was by no means forgiven yet. "I'll make it up to him," he insisted earnestly. He had rarely seen Pythagoras so angry and he couldn't handle it that day – not on top of everything else. "You'll see. There'll be no harm done. I promise you. Let's just get Iphicles on his way and then we'll put the time back in to us three again – as we used to be."

Eventually, Hercules was rewarded with the tiniest of cracks in Pythagoras' stony mask though when the young man spoke, his voice was still hard and hurt. "This will mean, of course, that Jason will miss seeing your brother which is a great shame. If your family is here, we should _all _be included in meeting him. For all your fussing, Iphicles seems like a very pleasant and polite gentleman." He cast a dry, acidic look at the burly wrestler. "Perhaps you could learn from him while he is here?"

And with that, Pythagoras snatched up the cloth from the table and turned to walk back to the kitchen, muttering as he did so that the vegetables needed checking.

Hercules breathed a sigh of relief as he watched him go, his heart as heavy as his conscience. But, all things considered, it was for the best.

* * *

><p>By the time Jason arrived at the Mountains of Galena, night had firmly drawn in. Not for the first time, Jason drew his cloak more tightly about him and shivered. His thicker, warmer clothing was still at the Palace. Pasiphae frowned more and more often as Jason returned to the city in the same thin garments that he had discovered on his arrival to Atlantis, albeit with the addition of the cloak that he had purchased in the market. He made it a point to leave his Palace life behind at the Palace but there were moments when the young man wondered if it would matter <em>so<em> much if he just wore the longer trousers or the thicker shoes? He wasn't even sure who it mattered _to_ anymore.

The path was, indeed, trickier at night and truth be told, there had been one or two moments when Jason had considered going back, braving his mother's temper and the humiliation of being rejected from his house and returning to the Palace instead. But when he thought of his father's welcoming smile and his comforting words of wisdom, Jason had pressed on again.

The more Jason thought about Hercules' odd behaviour as he trudged on up the rocky scree, pulling himself up from one jagged platform to the next, the more he fretted and worked himself into a state, worthy of Pythagoras himself. What had Hercules meant by his comment? Did he see something that Jason didn't? Or was he just angry with him? Jason tried to think of all the things he might have done to upset his friend: he and Pythagoras _had_ teased him about his body odour and drinking habits the other night. But he never seemed to take their banter seriously. Could his friend still be angry with him from his over-exertion at the recent Games? It was such a long time ago that it felt unlikely and in any event, the mammoth lecture he had received from the wrestler on his recklessness had been _more_ than enough to express every ounce of anger he could possibly have possessed and _then some_. Jason couldn't imagine there could be any residual annoyance that would have gone unspoken. So maybe it was something else? Jason's stomach lurched and he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Maybe Hercules was trying to break away from him? Slowly? He'd never fought with his friends before – not really and Jason paled at the idea that fissures were starting to appear on the surface of their relationship. What would he do in Atlantis without his friends?

Blinking back the sharp sting of tears, Jason shook his head firmly. He was being melodramatic. That's what he could talk to Aeson about – the man would always give him his honest opinion and he usually knew just what to say to put Jason at ease. Hopefully, he could tell him how stupid he was being. But what if he wasn't? Glancing up at the sky, Jason estimated it to be close to eleven, twelve o'clock. He grimaced: arriving now would be a disturbance but the people usually stayed up late around the campfire, swapping stories, singing songs. It shouldn't be _too_ much of an imposition and he had the wine in his bag as a means of offering.

He had reached the final ascent that would lead him to the crack between the mountains. As luck would have it, the moon was full that night and the sky clear. Although it made it colder, it also illuminated his path making the climb a little less treacherous. Normally, he would have taken a torch from Hercules' house before he made this journey but in this instance, Nature would have to guide his way. Carefully he made the climb, securing his footing before he continued on up each step until finally he stood at the top, breathing a light sigh of relief. The path between the mountains was familiar to him now, even in the dark and Jason no longer felt the pressing walls of rock trying to close in on either side of him as he travelled through it.

Pressing his body through the crevice, Jason grinned as the sounds of laughter and conversation grew steadily louder, the closer he drew to the end. He wondered if Aeson was amongst the people he could hear in the clearing. Jason imagined his father would be: though Aeson may not entertain with as many stories as his companions, he was always there, leaning against the log bench by the fire, listening with a soft, knowing smile on his face. It was in that way, that Jason felt he and his father were very much alike: they enjoyed the company of others, but were content to let those others shine. The warm glow of the camp fire lit the last of the path for him and as he emerged into view, his foot kicked several small stones and sent them scattering over the edge of the drop, with a quiet clatter. The voices around the fire below stopped, and it suddenly occurred to Jason, that his unexpected appearance might alarm them.

"Hi," he called out, a little embarrassed. "Sorry. It's only me."

Down below, Jason saw about a dozen or so of the lepers, relaxing around the late night fire. Some had remained seated while others had stood on his approach and looked up at him with cautious eyes. Jason thought he saw one or two of them smile but it was his father that he looked for. Carefully, Jason began to descend the path that led down to the clearing, hoping to see the man as he did so: so many eyes watching him curiously, was making Jason feel uncomfortable. Thankfully, a tall figure in his familiar long robes emerged from within the circle of men and women and made his way towards him.

"Jason?" Aeson's voice was sharp and concerned. "Why are you here? Is everything alright?" Relieved to see his father, Jason nodded, his grin widening on his face. Aeson strode quickly and met Jason while he still moved down the path, forcing him to pause where he was. The rest of the group below watched the exchange with unbridled curiosity.

"Everything's fine," Jason confirmed – his worries about his friendships were certainly not the life-threatening issues that were clearly worrying his father and besides, he would wait until they had some privacy before he broached that subject. "I just had some free time so I thought I'd come here a bit early."

Strangely, Aeson did not smile and embrace him as Jason had been expecting. Now that the immediate threat of danger had been dismissed, his father stood a little taller and took a slow step back from his son, regarding him in a long, cool stare. Jason felt his smile slip a little. "I see," Aeson remarked, quietly. For a second, he appeared to be thinking something through. "It's funny; I wait here for you to show up from week to week and each time, I see nothing of you. But now that you have some _free time_, here you are."

Jason blinked, taken aback by the chill in his father's voice. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, aware the others were still watching from a short distance away. "I've wanted to come but I've been ill and when the storms are bad, Pasiph…" He broke off suddenly at the meaningful warning look that Aeson suddenly shot him and quickly amended his speech: "_They_ don't like it when I travel in bad weather."

Aeson regarded him slowly. "So now that all is fair and easy, you give me what you can afford of your time?" Jason opened his mouth to protest but Aeson swept on: "I realise, Jason, that this is not a _conventional_ home and that you are probably used to having your will satisfied day _or_ night." He ignored the way his son's face morphed from hopefulness, into confusion and hurt. "But this is still _our_ home," he said, indicating the other lepers with a nod of his head, "and it is customary in polite circles, not to turn up, unannounced, in the middle of the night."

Jason's chest ached and he felt as though he had been winded – punched in the stomach by his father's words and by the quiet murmur of accordance that seemed to run around the occupants of the campfire circle. "I didn't think," Jason stammered, wide-eyed. "I just thought that you…" Suddenly, he couldn't voice the words – they sounded so painfully naive. _Would be glad to see me? _Apparently, this was another of his monumental misjudgements. Still inwardly reeling, Jason glanced about at the sea of eyes staring up at him and began to feel his heart beat faster in his chest. A couple were as confused at the turn of events as he was but the majority appeared to reflect the detachment of their leader. Everything felt _strange_ and out of place: familiar and yet stripped of all the warmth and invitation that Jason was so used to feeling here. It was like seeing a funfair after hours when the rides had all shut down and the colourful, happy park attendants were out of their costumes and just sat and glared at you for disturbing their private time. The illusion was gone. He was seeing the colony after hours and apparently he was disturbing _their_ private time.

Hesitantly, Jason glanced back the way he had come, watching where the light of the fire reached no further and the gloom of the crevice opened out. Perhaps he should go back? Come back in the day, or when it was his allotted time? He wasn't prepared for camping but the weather was fine and he could make do for one night. But apparently sensing where his son's thoughts were heading, Aeson shook his head, saying quietly:

"It isn't safe to travel back now. And anyway, you're here now and I shall not deny the laws of hospitality." Jason almost stepped backwards. _The laws of hospitality_? He wasn't sure what that meant exactly but it didn't sit well with him. However, Aeson stepped to one side, indicating with his hand that Jason should continue down the path and into the colony.

Not seeing a better option, Jason complied, his face burning and feeling the judgemental eyes of those who quietly dispersed at the bottom on his arrival. Aeson followed him down and when he was next to him once more, said:

"As you can see, we've already eaten but if you're hungry…"

"No!" Jason replied, quickly with a vigorous shake of his head. "No, it's fine. Thanks, I've eaten. Sorry. I'll just go to bed." He paused, glancing back uncertainly. "Unless there's anything you need me to do before I turn in?"

But Aeson shook his head. "Your bed's not made up but you remember where the blankets are?" Jason nodded. "Right then – I shall see you in the morning."

It was clear Aeson intended to remain awake for some time, conversing with his companions but Jason could not wait to be away from their prying eyes and all but darted into his father's modest dwelling. Dim, smoky lamps were burning when he entered and Jason immediately crossed the floor to where his small bed stood and pulled the privacy screen across. He didn't want to see Aeson again until the morning when, with any luck, the man would have calmed down and they could begin the new day afresh, without these unexpected feelings of distance. The trunk in one corner of the room kept the unused bedding and Jason quickly went to open it, retrieving the pillows and blankets that he would need. Throwing them down onto the bed in vaguely the correct positions Jason collapsed onto it, kicking off his shoes and burrowing under the covers. Arriving unannounced in the middle of the night _was_ rude: why hadn't he considered that before he set off? With a heavy sigh, Jason rolled over to sleep. He would just have to make amends with his father in the morning.

* * *

><p>"Is Ariadne not returned yet? I have been searching for her all morning." Minos stopped and looked about once more, a frown creasing his forehead. Pasiphae kept her expression carefully neutral though she could not help but wonder, watching Minos cast his gaze about the parlour, if he thought his daughter was likely to be hiding behind the curtains as she used to do when a playful child.<p>

"No, my Lord. We _are_ in the month of Poseideon and Ariadne has much to help prepare at the Temple."

Minos sighed. His daughter was hard-working, almost to a fault and the Winter Solstice month, dedicated primarily to the worship of the Great Sea-God Poseidon, would keep her busier than ever. With his daughter spending more and more of her time in the Temple and Jason away for half the week, Minos reluctantly realised that he hardly _saw_ the children these days. Not that the demands on his time as king afforded him the luxury of time with his family. But, he thanked the gods that he always had Pasiphae by his side. Even in her moments of temper, she was still a welcome companion. And, as it happened, her most recent bout of ill-temper had ended rather swiftly. Once her son had left for the city, she had become quite melancholy. Though she would not admit as much to her husband, Minos rather suspected she had quarrelled with the young man before he left and her fiery temper probably gave her cause to regret her words. He had noticed that she had been in Jason's room quite regularly since the young man left, dismissing the servants and arranging it herself until she was satisfied that Jason would be pleased with it. It was, Minos realised, her way of reconnecting with the boy, of showing him that she _did_ love him. _No doubt, she will be spoiling the boy rotten when he returns home_, he thought to himself with a silent chuckle.

"Ah," he sighed. "Poseideon – a fine celebration. We must be sure the days of feasting surpass even last year's." Pasiphae nodded her silent agreement – bigger and better was always a good way to show-off the city's prosperity. "And there must be plenty of wine and food for the citizens. We must see to the supplies straight away. Perhaps Jason knows some reliable, good-quality merchants in the city who might help alleviate some of the burdens from our own kitchens?"

Again, his wife nodded. "Undoubtedly." And if not Jason, she added silently, then that friend of his, who regularly sampled the delights of every cook in the market.

Minos' expression momentarily darkened. "Though I suppose we must endure the lascivious merriment and chaos of the Haloea at the end of the month."

Pasiphae laughed, batting him lightly on the arm. Though it was not a festival she, as Queen, had ever joined in with, it always amused her (for as much as Pasiphae could _be_ amused) how much her husband disapproved of it. Perhaps it was the temporary freedom the day granted the women of Atlantis, briefly removed from the constraints and burdens of their sex? "Minos, it is only for one day. The people enjoy the dancing and processions." She did not mention the various _other_ acts performed in rituals to the Love-Goddess Aphrodite. Minos quietly harrumphed.

"And they no-doubt also enjoy the damage inflicted on the statues and buildings due to their drunken revelries. Or those bonfires they light about the city in dangerously inappropriate places. Or the skirmishes our guards have to break up. Our workmen spend _days_ putting this city back together after the taverns spill out on the streets."

But his wife merely sighed. "Come my Lord, you are exaggerating. No-one has died yet from the Haloea."

"That's as may be," Minos agreed, still frowning, "but I do not want Jason embroiled in such activities if this falls within his three days in the city. It would certainly not be appropriate." Beside him, Pasiphae sighed, already seeing the battle on the horizon. But if Minos wanted to fight this particular battle then it was down to him. She would play no part in it. Let Minos lock horns with the boy for once.

Searching for a way to change the subject, Pasiphae suddenly thought: "It has been five years, has it not?"

Minos turned to her and smiled. "Indeed it has. I have sent word to the artists to be here within the week." For a moment, the king held her hand and gently squeezed it. "How different things are now," he wondered softly and for once, his wife could not help but honestly agree with him. "How much more joyous. We have much to be thankful for this year." He released her hand and took a small step backwards, looking carefully at his wife. "I feel the need to visit the Northern Tower. Would you care to accompany me?"

And knowing his gentle, innocent purpose, the queen accepted, taking his arm as they walked together, content to let the regrets of the Past fire their arrows at them one last time as their hope for the Future finally had its rightful turn to shine.

* * *

><p>Morning was dawning on the third day of Jason's time at the colony and with it went the last hopes he still harboured that his father's strange mood would have dissipated over time and good will. For the most part, the residents themselves, now that their initial confusion had past, were happy enough to see him but no matter how hard Jason tried, Aeson remained strangely distant as though Jason had somehow deeply offended him. Try as he might, he could not work out his father's mood which seemed to ebb and flow like the tide: though conversation never flowed between them, one moment he would at least enquire as to whether Jason was warm enough or comfortable enough and the next, treat one of his acts of kindness with disdainful mockery. <em>Pasiphae's<em> mood swings were easier to read than Aeson's, Jason thought, miserably.

Jason had just returned from collecting wood for a resident's fire, when Aeson had curtly informed him that it had been somebody _else's_ job that he was interfering with and so he had then decided to lay low for a while. Put some distance between the two of them before he lost his temper and said something he would later regret. He briefly tried to remember if there was a male version of the menopause because his father certainly seemed to be going through _something_.

Jason thought about Myrtle again. On waking the first morning and discovering his father's mood had not improved, Jason's first thought was to seek her out, hoping to have _some_ form of welcome that visit. But, he had been informed, old Myrtle was ill. Nothing too serious but she slept most of the day in order to regain her strength. Exhaustion, Aeson had said, staring long and hard at Jason until the boy felt uncertainty and guilt niggle at his mind. Jason had slipped in to her hut around lunchtime, hoping to see how she was, only to find that what he had been told was true. The woman slept deeply, her weaving discarded on a small table by her bed. Jason couldn't bring himself to disturb her rest. So, placing a small sprig of bright yellow and blue flowers by her bedside to brighten up the room, Jason had slipped out again and not returned.

And so, having already checked that there were no more tasks he could do for anyone that wouldn't involve 'treading on anyone's toes' or 'trying to show off' – that one _really_ stung and Jason hadn't resisted the barbed comment he'd shot back, either – Jason took himself away to a quiet area of the woods where he could stretch out, undisturbed. He couldn't think of anyone who would be looking for him anyway. He was practically a stranger in their midst. With a weary sigh, he took out the History work from his bag and unrolled the scrolls. If he could do no good here, he may as well be prepared for his exam. But even as his eyes roamed over the page, committing to memory as many of the names and dates and battles as he could, Jason's chest still persistently ached. He had never got to ask his father about Hercules but now that particular problem didn't really seem to matter any more. At least, not in the same way.

As the day wore on, Jason found himself relaxing a little more, putting his current troubles out of his mind and focusing on the here and now. He read through each scroll several times, jotted down some notes on a piece of parchment; tested himself, checked his answers then tested himself again. With a smile, he began to feel his confidence build as every test yielded more and more correct answers. It was just like Uni or studying for A-levels: Jason had always hated the thought of it and usually put it off for as long as he could. But once he finally committed himself to the act of learning and got stuck into it, the knowledge came to him surprisingly easily. At least he would be able to please Pasiphae, if no-one else and - he had to admit it - he quite enjoyed the success for his _own_ pleasure too, not just his parents'.

By the time afternoon drew in to early evening, Jason had been so consumed with his thoughts, that he hadn't realised how cold it really was. He sneezed loudly and it rattled his chest, making his collar bone ache. Quickly, Jason gathered up his scrolls and shoved them back into his bag, inwardly wincing at the thought of going back into the 'den' and pretending nothing bothered him. It was possible, _just possible_, that the time apart had done Aeson good.

As he wandered back into the communal area, a large cooking pot hung on a tripod over the fire and the tempting smells of meat and vegetables made Jason realise how hungry he was.

"There you are!" His father's voice called out to Jason as he emerged from the trees. Jason considered both the words and the tone: neither seemed particularly distant or cold. He risked a smile and Aeson nodded back to him. "I thought you were going to miss supper. Come on." The man beckoned him over to the circle, with one hand.

Encouraged, Jason made his way over to the camp, suddenly exhausted and cold. He found a space in the circle and wearily sunk down onto the ground, just letting the heat from the fire warm him up and seep through his clothes. It felt good and, forgetting for the moment about supper, Jason smiled and closed his eyes, letting his head drop forwards towards his chest. A low chuckle from his side made Jason look up. Aeson stood over him, looking down with mixed emotions.

"You'll need to get your bowl from the house if you're going to eat," he reminded Jason. Then he added, in a decidedly snider tone: "We don't have table service here, I'm afraid."

For a long moment, Jason took a deep breath and clasped his hands together in his lap, his head bowed. When he looked up again, he fixed his father straight in the eye.

"Okay," he announced quietly. "I'm done." Aeson looked back at him in mild confusion but Jason ignored it. "I can see I've disturbed you and I won't take up any more of your time." He pushed to his feet and slung his bag over his shoulder, forcing Aeson to retreat back a step to give him room. A few of the others gave him a curious look for his abrupt departure. A few more gave him a sympathetic look that seemed to say that they really didn't _blame him_.

"Jason…" Aeson began, but his son cut him off.

"I'm going back to the city." He shot his father a pointed look, laced with anger, sadness and regret. Despite the edge to his voice, his eyes still shone, treacherously. "Thanks for having me." He didn't bother to disguise either the sarcasm _or_ the hurt.

One quick stop to his bed to pick up his cloak and the other few belongings he had brought with him and Jason was climbing the path to the crevice before he knew it. And although Aeson stood and watched his movements, perhaps with a heavy heart – Jason couldn't tell – he made no move to stop him.

* * *

><p>By the time Jason arrived back in Atlantis, his nerves were shot through, he was freezing and he was thoroughly exhausted. It was not quite dawn although first light was not far off. Jason paused as the city rose into view from the Northern Gate. There were still several hours before a respectable, polite time of day to be calling on people. He had no money for an inn and besides, it wasn't worth it for the few hours remaining. Jason thought about where to go. His feet ached <em>so<em> badly that he continually shifted from foot to foot, to try to alleviate the pressure. Walking wasn't too bad, but standing still was pure torture. He needed to make a decision as to where he was headed. His head was also swimming, probably from fatigue and lack of a decent meal. At least once on the journey he had been forced to stop when nausea overtook him. The only thing he had to drink in his bag was the wine he had bought from the agora and somehow, Jason didn't think it would do him any good. He had passed by a small stream a while back but that was several hours ago now and his thirst was prickling again. He should have emptied the wine and refilled it with water, but he hadn't thought about it then and it was too late now.

Well, he couldn't go home – Hercules had made it very clear that there wasn't room until this brother of his left (and Jason suddenly realised that he didn't know how long the brother was intending to stay). His thoughts turned to the Palace but then abruptly stopped, his heart hammering in his chest. If turning up at Aeson's in the middle of the night, was rude, would the same apply here? Could he just waltz in and out of the place any time of the day or night, treating the place as if he owned it or as if it was a hotel? Doubt held him back. He couldn't face being called up on the same offence twice in almost as many days. _Once_ was humiliating enough.

Slowly, Jason's feet started moving forward, almost independently to his mind (which Jason had to admit, _wasn't_ functioning on a particularly high level). It was with faint surprise, a short while later, that Jason registered where they had taken him to.

The gentle roar and swish of the waves soothed his frazzled nerves like a balm. Jason sank down onto the soft sand, finding shelter by an outcropping of rocks and trees. He wrapped his cloak about him and fell backwards on the sand, propping his bag under his head as a makeshift pillow. He was so tired and the lapping waves were gentle and rhythmic. It would not be long before dawn and then Jason would head straight to the Palace to change and prepare for his exam. But in the meantime, he closed his eyes and let rest take him.

* * *

><p>Jason awoke to the sound of the gulls crying and the shouts of fishermen as they hauled their latest catch back onto the shore. The sun shone brightly on his face and the constant breeze picked up flurries of sand and continually sprayed his eyes, nose and mouth with them. Coughing slightly, Jason sat up, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes while succeeding only in rubbing sand <em>into<em> them. It took a moment for Jason to take stock of his surroundings but a moment later and the events of last night came flooding back to him. He had slept quickly and heavily. With a start, Jason breathed in sharply. The sun was far too high in the sky to be dawning. It must be mid-morning already. Cursing loudly, Jason scrambled to his feet, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He hadn't meant to sleep so long but he didn't have long to get back to the Palace.

It was fair to say that Jason ran on, operating on only a fraction of his levels of awareness: his mind was reeling, his heart hammering in his chest, his limbs were shaky and didn't always cooperate when he tried to round a corner or navigate past a vendor's cart and frankly, he wasn't sure what driving force was propelling him onwards.

Once he reached the Palace, Jason rushed inside and up the staircase to his room. A jug of fresh clear water had been left on the side table and Jason eagerly poured himself first one, then two cups, gulping them down in quick succession. It was not long at all before he had finished the whole jug and, much to his displeasure, realised he could not hold down so much water in one sitting, bringing the last cup of water straight back up again and into the bowl set aside for washing. Straightening, he took a moment to quickly pull off his old clothes and hurriedly dress in his palace ones. He ran a comb through his hair, dislodging a fair amount of sand and tangles. Then, emptying his bag of his travelling gear and the wine, Jason gathered up the rest of his equipment for his lessons, and quietly shut the door behind him as he left. With any luck, Acrion would have waited for him, even if was a little late – Jason didn't fancy explaining to Pasiphae why, far from _failing_ the exam, he didn't even turn up to _take_ it.

* * *

><p>By the time Jason eventually returned to his chambers, less than an hour had passed though to him, it had felt like a whole lot longer. He pushed the door shut with one foot and let his bag drop heavily to the floor. His brain was numb, his emotions were tumultuous and his whole body shook from exhaustion, both emotional and physical. The events of the last four days had left him utterly hollowed out and in the very centre of him, a large black bubble of anger and hurt was steadily swelling, pushing to get out.<p>

Sinking down onto his bed, Jason scooted until he was sitting up, leaning against the headboard and he stared blankly ahead at the wall opposite him, trying to marshal his thoughts, trying to dissipate that black, churning feeling inside his gut and to keep back the weak, sharp prick of tears. Crying would make him as pathetic as he felt and though Jason still struggled to wrap his head around _how_ he might have screwed everything up _so_ badly when he had only ever tried to do his best, Jason could at least allow himself the dignity of not wailing like an infant or cursing his bad luck and how the world wasn't fair. Even though, right now, it didn't _feel_ very fair and Jason had a near-overwhelming urge to kick and scream and rage at the injustice like a sulky toddler. But he would not. What was the point?

He took a deep breath and felt the shudder run though it. _Get a grip_, he commanded himself, pressing his lips tightly shut: _It's no big deal. But you don't leave this room until you've pulled yourself together._

A sharp rapping suddenly sounded on his door and Jason swore under his breath. Whoever it was could just go away again – it was fair to say that he wasn't in the mood for company. The knocking came again but still Jason said nothing, staring down at his hands until whoever it was passed on by. Jason tensed as he waited, listening for the sound of receding footsteps moving on down the passageway. A short time passed and the knocking did not come again. But just as Jason breathed a sigh of relief, he heard a soft creak as the latch lifted and the door opened.

Looking to see who was coming into the room, Jason suddenly felt the black cloud inside him swell to almost bursting point. He could not help but glance away, closing his eyes momentarily as Minos stepped inside, shutting the door behind him and then standing just inside, regarding Jason with a long, careful look. When Jason did not speak, Minos raised a silent eyebrow, sensing something very off with the boy. "You usually answer your door," Minos pointed out. His voice was curious, held a hint of remonstration but it was calm and quiet nonetheless. He watched as Jason eventually took a deep breath and looked directly at him.

"I know," Jason admitted, his voice barely audible. "I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you." _Why_ Minos was here, Jason had a pretty good feeling: he had spoken to Acrion – he _had_ to have done. This day just kept getting better and better…

Minos nodded. Though it didn't explain why Jason was being so silent, looking at the young man – the way his frame was hunched, the pale complexion of his face and the way his lips were pressed tightly together, perhaps to stop them from trembling – he was starting to get an idea. The fact that Jason had not immediately leapt to his feet and asked what he could do for him as he would normally have done when the king came to visit, was speaking volumes for his state of mind. The young man before him made no attempt to move off the bed, very little attempt at eye-contact and if a conversation _was_ to flow between them, it would clearly not be starting with Jason. Inwardly, Minos sighed as he made his way over to the chair by Jason's small table: the lad was troubled and it seemed today that he was not destined to play the King. He seated himself carefully and stared quietly at Jason for a long moment. The young man looked as tired and as unhappy as he remembered seeing him. Perhaps it would be better to fetch his mother? Minos began to wonder.

But just as he thought the silence would stretch on forever between him and his stepson, Jason's soft voice broke through it: "Have you spoken to Master Acrion?" Minos looked at him, surprised. It seemed an odd question and he didn't miss the way Jason tensed when he asked it. It was usually Pasiphae who raked him over the embers for falling behind on his studies.

"No," Minos answered. "Should I have?"

Jason simply shrugged and gave a mirthless half-laugh. "I'm sure you will sooner or later: you or Pasiphae." He ran both hands through his brown curls, gripping the roots tightly and drew his knees up to his chest. Minos frowned at the state Jason appeared to be in. "It's just one of those days," Jason laughed out, harshly. "And I don't understand any of it." Abruptly, he released his hair and took a long, cool breath. When he raised his head again, his expression was calmer- blank, even. The king's frown deepened.

"Jason," he commanded quietly. "If I am to hear of these events anyway, I would rather hear them first from you and with it," he added shrewdly, "the events that have led _up_ to them." He watched with a small smile as Jason grimaced, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes, perhaps to shut him out. _I'm not going away_, Minos thought with quiet amusement, _so ignoring me will do no good_. But the boy was ready to talk – he could sense that.

And he didn't have long to wait. When Jason opened his eyes, he fixed such an honest, raw look upon the king. "What are the laws of hospitality?" Jason asked, quietly.

Minos was once more, surprised at the turn of questioning. "They are the Sacred Laws, commanded by Zeus himself that say if a stranger or traveller comes to your door, you must not deny them food and shelter. To break such rules," he added, "is a great dishonour." Minos wasn't sure why Jason had asked the question but he didn't miss the way the lad's eyes began to water and he nodded, painfully.

"I see," he responded. "Thank you. Makes sense now."

"Jason?" the king pressed a little more forcefully, leaning in closer to his stepson.

Quickly, Jason shook his head. "Never mind me, Sire. It's just been a really bad couple of days but I'll be fine. You wouldn't be interested." But Minos simply stared meaningfully at him.

"Start at the beginning and I shall make that judgment for myself."

Jason hesitated, this really not being the time or place. But Minos appeared stubbornly, commandingly relentless and so Jason sighed and gave in:

"It's nothing really. I just had a small argument with my friend." Jason suddenly winced when he realised how juvenile that sounded. "I mean," he amended quickly, "it wasn't really an argument. It was more like we didn't understand each other…I think. I don't know: maybe he thinks I've changed; or maybe I _have_ and I just didn't realise or maybe." He sighed, swallowing a lump in his throat: "maybe we're just starting to drift apart?" He risked a look up at Minos, who sat watching him thoughtfully and Jason found he was grateful for the lack of interruption. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "So anyway, I didn't stay in the city." At this, Minos raised a sharp eyebrow.

"Where did you go?" he demanded. The idea that Jason had simply been wandering, without protection for three days, alarmed him. Perhaps it _was_ time to assign Jason a personal guard if he was going to be so unpredictable? But Jason's next words put him more at ease.

"I went to see Aeson. I thought, maybe, I could talk to him about what had happened." Minos nodded once more. There would never be a time when he enjoyed hearing the former king's name – it _still_ made him nervous, despite Pasiphae's insistence that he was harmless and the more time he spent with Jason, the more it worried Minos. But Jason loved Aeson and it was important for a son to love his father and Jason had never given him any _reason_ to worry.

"_Did_ he help?"

Jason glanced down at his lap, embarrassed. "It was my fault: I arrived, unannounced in the middle of the night. I didn't think." He gave a short, hard laugh, his eyes shining brightly and his voice strangled. "I just thought he'd be glad to see me. I didn't even think about how rude it was. I can't believe I was so stupid. I don't think he was pleased to see me but he said…"

"That he would abide by the laws of hospitality." Minos finished for him, a hard edge to his voice. Jason nodded and something inside of the king became inflamed with anger. However, he held his tongue and allowed Jason to continue.

"Well, it didn't really get any better after that – everything I did was either wrong or I was doing it for the wrong reasons. So I left a little earlier than usual and when I arrived back in Atlantis, it wasn't quite dawn yet."

Minos frowned again: firstly, that the boy had been travelling alone and through the night and secondly, that he had not heard the guards say that Jason had arrived last night. A cold, angry suspicion took hold of him.

Jason glanced away, sighing. "I wasn't sure if it was alright to turn up here in the middle of the night and I'm not sure that Hercules _wants _to see me so I went down to the beach instead." He didn't see the way Minos narrowed his eyes, intent as he was on just finishing his wretched story. "I only meant to stay a couple of hours until dawn, you know? Just watching the sea. But I fell asleep and when I woke up I knew I was late and I knew I had this exam and I'd studied for it. I actually _studied_ for it this time – I _knew_ it. I thought there could be at least _one_ thing that I didn't mess up." Jason trailed off, smiling sadly to himself.

"I take it, it did _not_ go well?"

Jason shrugged. "I barely had a chance to find out. I could hardly focus on the words, I couldn't concentrate. What I _did_ write was apparently rubbish. Acrion just tore it up and said that I had insulted him by coming to his lesson," and here he mimicked his tutor's deep tones, "_with such ill preparation and in such an unsightly display of disarray_." Jason sat back on his bed and once more ran his fingers through his hair, taking a shaky breath. "I never meant to insult _anyone_. And I _was_ prepared – sort of. But I couldn't exactly _miss it_ and I didn't know what else to do." He ended with a soft laugh. "I seem to have made a mess of everything I've touched."

Jason sighed again and bent his head down onto his chest. He wasn't sure if Minos would have anything to say, short of reading him the riot act for yet another failure. But he didn't care anymore. He had said his piece, told his story and whether or not it was listened to, it had felt good to say it. For what seemed like a long moment, the king said nothing and Jason didn't bother looking up at him. If Minos wanted his attention, he would command it soon enough but he was too tired and too miserable to give much thought to _anything_ right then.

When Minos did speak, his voice was calmer than Jason had expected and it was also not to simply dismiss him. "Well then," he began, "it appears, as you say, that you have had some eventful days past. Perhaps we should begin with the most recent." Jason glanced up at the king, his body tensing. "No, you should _not_ have come to your lesson in the state that you are in. A change of clothes will hardly pay remedy to a night of walking and a morning spent sleeping on a beach." Jason blushed, furiously, looking down at the bedclothes but nodding his understanding at the gentle reprimand. He _had_ been a fool! He just hadn't had the brain-power to think _clearly_. Minos continued: "If such an instance occurs again, for whatever reason, make your apologies to your tutor and arrange to come back in the afternoon or else the next day. Contrary to your belief, your mother _would_ understand even if she _may_ have something to say about the _reasons_ for it." Taking a deep breath, Jason looked up at Minos.

"Yes, Sire. I'm sorry."

Minos waved it away. "I am sure this test can be re-taken when you are properly refreshed, rested and fed. Now, on to other matters." And here he paused and looked more kindly at Jason. "This friend of yours…Hercules?" Jason nodded. "He is the same man who fought the Earth Bull alongside you? Who spoke up for you in court? He is the man you entered _into_ this arrangement to save?"

As Minos spoke, Jason felt worry churning in his heart. "Yes, Sire," he said quietly. Then the king chuckled softly.

"Jason, such friendships as this – such loyalty – it is not so easily lost that one misunderstanding or petty squabble can break it apart. Speak to him calmly on your next visit and you shall see that I am right."

"Kings are _always_ right," Jason pointed out, a faint smile on his face. His stepfather laughed, lightly.

"That is true, but I do not say this to you as a king." He tapped him lightly on the arm, provoking another smile from the young man. "Now, as for Aeson." His voice grew a touch harder. "I do not know his state of mind and I cannot explain his actions or why he was not pleased to see you. Perhaps he was, in his own way? But I can assure you of this:" And here he leaned forwards and carefully took a hold of Jason's chin, tilting it upwards until their eyes locked. "_This_ is your home, whenever you want it. There is _never_ a time, day or night when you are not welcome to arrive. You do not need an invitation and you will never be turned away." He gave the head he held, a gentle shake, watching as Jason blinked away the moisture in his eyes. "You know my views on your being abroad, alone, at night. I do not wish to hear of you repeating such actions again."

And then he released him and sat back in his chair. "If you do not wish to travel to see your father again, certainly no-one is going to insist upon it. Take some time – consider what you would like to do. And now," he announced, standing. "You must rest. I shall inform your mother of your return and…" he paused, giving Jason a rueful smile, "the result of your lesson." He watched with some amusement as Jason grimaced. "She will understand, Jason – I promise you and I am sure she will see that you are made comfortable."

Jason nodded, surprised by just how much better he was now feeling, how the world was not suddenly conspiring against him. He smiled, fatigue once more trying to take him as peace finally washed over his troubled thoughts. "Thank you, Your Majesty," he mumbled, already wriggling back down the bed until he was lying flat. He sighed as he felt his aching muscles relax into the bed and Minos chuckled, quietly.

"You are welcome," he replied, quietly exiting the room and leaving the young man to his much-needed rest.

* * *

><p>That's it for now. If you have a moment to let me know what you think, then I'd love to hear from you. Thanks for reading this far!<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

The Five of Swords

Standard disclaimer applies – I don't own any of them.

Thank you so much to everyone who responded to chapter 2 and to _awanthika_, _gotanygrapes_ and _Angel_, who I can't respond to personally – thanks for your reviews, I really appreciate them. I'm sorry this has been so long in coming. I don't know if anyone's still following this story but if you are, then I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter Three

Before he knew it, three days had passed in the blink of an eye and Jason found himself once more approaching the front door of his house. Only things were just a little different now: not knowing how long this brother of Hercules was going to stay, Jason wasn't sure of his reception. He had bought no wine or pies from the agora. His feelings of despondency and his concerns about his place in life had, over time with both his mother (who was indeed, far more understanding and loving than Jason had initially given her credit for) and his stepfather, been put to a sort of uneasy rest. Keeping Minos' words of reassurance in his heart, Jason paused for a fraction on the doorstep, wondering if he should knock first. If it turned out there still was no room for him, then that was fine: but Jason wasn't leaving without a decent conversation with both his friends. There was certainly room enough around the table for four of them to share a meal and clear the air. Jason sent up a silent prayer that all would be back to normal again. If he had to move on, he had already decided to return to the Palace instead. A sad, bitter feeling encompassed Jason every time he thought of his father and his strange coldness. Certainly their relationship would not be ended on one bad day. Of course Jason would see him again and they would mend whatever bridges had been damaged between them. But not just yet: Aeson had hurt him and the young man intended to keep his distance for a little while, just until they had both gained a bit more perspective on the matter.

But that door was not opening itself. Taking a deep breath, Jason pushed down on the handle and swung it open, stepping inside quickly, as though he may be thrown out again if someone cottoned on to what he was doing. He shut the door behind him, keeping his bag on his shoulder for now, until he knew more. Looking around, Jason was faintly surprised to see the house unchanged, looking as it always did – a little cluttered (where Pythagoras had not found time to see to yet), smelling faintly of the herbs and plants that the young genius kept hanging for his various remedies and the familiar smell of cracked, worn leather. A smile crept over his face as its little comforts began to fill the cracks in his confidence.

"Hello?" he called out, cautiously. "Anyone home?" Jason took a few more steps inside, stopping by the table where the food-basket from the Palace had been delivered and sat waiting. Pythagoras was yet to bring it to the kitchen to unpack. With a small smile, Jason casually turned the jars and bowls over, examining the contents. There were, he noted with a touch of guilt, noticeably fewer wine skeins and no pies whatsoever. A large wrapped package he discovered, though, contained both a wheel of his favourite cheese and a selection of cured meats that he had taken a liking to over breakfasts at the Palace. Jason grinned, feeling a pleasant warmth in his stomach. His mother's hand had most definitely been guiding this week's selection – both in her small, loving gestures and in her quiet, protective moments of passive-aggressiveness.

Turning his attention away from the food, Jason glanced towards his bed, unsurprised to see an unfamiliar travelling bag underneath it. The bed had been neatly made – far neater than he himself usually was – the warm winter furs folded neatly down at the foot of the bed and the pillows perfectly smoothed. Either Pythagoras had been playing a good host or their guest was particularly meticulous. He began to picture the two very opposite natures of these brothers and what their childhood must have been like – each one's habits grinding on the other one's nerves. And then it dawned on him: the _bag_ was still here. The _man_ was still here. So there would be no room, once more, for him. He sighed, feeling his disappointment keenly and a touch of annoyance too.

"Jason?" Pythagoras' bright voice suddenly sounded from behind him, causing him to spin around. The mathematician's face was beaming widely as he approached from the balcony. "Sorry, I was hanging some washing – the air is crisp enough to dry it well today." Seeing his friend so happy to see him, melted Jason's worries away. Pythagoras quickly crossed the room and embraced him with wide, open arms. "It's so good to see you, Jason," he enthused. "I missed you last week."

Laughing lightly and silently soaking up his friend's welcome, Jason waved it off. "I hear it's very crowded in here." He didn't miss the way Pythagoras' kind features hardened a little as he firmly shook his head.

"Not so crowded that we can not make room for four. Hercules was being a little…over-zealous last week." Then he pointed to a comfortable-looking mattress on the floor near the hearth. Plump pillows were piled up on one end and a warm, soft selection of blankets had been drawn up over the bed, the ends tucked snugly beneath the mattress. It looked like the world's most comfortable bed and Jason was stuck by a sudden urge to collapse right into it and test it out. But he didn't. Instead, he turned and grinned back at his friend.

"That's for me?"

Pythagoras nodded. "I am sorry you cannot have your own bed back yet but I've made this one as comfortable as I can: the mattress is well-stuffed with hay beneath and feathers on top." He paused before adding, a little icily. "Hercules did it." Jason tried not to wince at the hard tone, wondering if Hercules had been given any say in the matter at all.

"It's great," he assured his friend, sincerely. "Thanks." Carefully, he walked over to it and sat down, surprised by how something so soft and downy, could still support his weight. He let his bag drop to the floor beside the mattress and swung his legs over onto the mattress, lying down with a flop and a smile as he all but melted into the pillows. Above him, Jason heard an irritated sigh from Pythagoras.

"Jason please get your muddy feet off the blankets – they've just been washed and dried." With an embarrassed apology, Jason quickly did as his friend asked, scooting back around and pushing himself back onto his feet.

"I love it," he confirmed again. "So I'll get to meet this Iphicles after all?"

"Yes – I'm glad you do. Though, not wanting to be a bad host, I will admit that I shall be even gladder to get the house back to normal when he goes." The volume of Pythagoras' voice indicated to Jason that their guest was not within the house or else he would never have risked causing offence. As he spoke, Pythagoras collected the basket from the table and carried it into the kitchen.

"Wine?" he asked Jason. "It's almost time for the meal so I do not see it as excessive to enjoy a cup now." Eagerly, Jason nodded. Now that he knew he was staying _and_ with Hercules' apparent blessing, both his spirits and his waning appetite were returning. A cup of sweet red wine sounded perfect, sitting about the fire and sharing the events of the last few days. As if sensing his thoughts, Pythagoras called out: "Why don't you go and sit by the fire and I shall bring some over?"

A moment later and both boys had pulled up wooden benches around the hearth, softening them with warm folds of fur. Pythagoras had heated the wine ever so slightly, over the cooking fire and added just a touch of spice – another exotic gift from the weekly food-baskets. Jason inhaled the scent over his cup, closing his eyes as memories of mulled wine on Christmas Eves flooded back to him. The fire popped and crackled, sending sparks flying. Jason grinned and, spotting a pine-cone amongst the pile of kindling, tossed it onto the fire, watching it suddenly soar and explode. Pausing in his own drink, Pythagoras rolled his eyes, fondly, causing Jason to laugh. Jason found amusement in the simplest aspects of their daily lives. But it did occasionally remind the young genius to stop _analysing_ the world around him and to start taking _pleasure_ from it more often.

"So," Jason began, after they had each had time to enjoy their quiet drink. "What's he like?"

Assuming Jason meant Iphicles, Pythagoras gave a neutral shrug. "Different to Hercules," he said, carefully. "There _are_ similarities – vague ones. You will see what I mean when you meet him. But it seems remarkable indeed that these two men should have grown up in the same household and be borne from the same parents." He shook his blonde curls in mild amazement. "Did you know they are twins?"

Jason almost choked on his sip of wine, his eyes widening. He put the cup next to him on the bench as he coughed, thumping himself in the middle of his chest. Finally, his breathing returned to normal. "Twins?" he repeated. "I'm taking it they can't be identical?" The idea of another Hercules running around, the same but changed through differing experiences, made him feel quite disconcerted. Pythagoras sat forwards, shaking his head.

"No," he agreed. "Fraternal only. Iphicles was born first, incidentally. Strange, but I rarely think of Hercules as being the younger of _anybody_." The young man paused, looking thoughtful. "It's funny: not just because they hardly seem alike but the way Hercules is acting around his brother."

"How do you mean?"

Pythagoras hesitated a moment, unsure whether to give voice to his suspicions. Would that be uncharitable of him? But he had _so_ missed Jason's company and having someone to confide in that his conscience could not withstand the battering of his calculating mind for long. "Twitchy," he supplied. "We barely say ten words around the dinner table before Hercules forcibly changes the subject to something like the weather or the local pie-man." Jason grinned, imagining his burly friend's somewhat club-footed way of barrelling on to a different subject. "_And_," Pythagoras continued now on a roll, "he asks him every morning if he thinks he will be leaving soon. _Every_ morning, though he tries to phrase it politely. Well, politely for Hercules."

"How come he _isn't_ leaving?"

"Storms out at sea. Iphicles says he sailed from Athens but until the weather calms, it's not safe to sail back again." They both paused as they took another sip of their wine, letting the liquid warm their chests.

"Still though," Jason pointed out. "He hasn't seen him in a long time – there's bound to be some weirdness." He didn't point out the similar relationship between his blonde friend and his own brother, Arcum. The events that nearly cost Pythagoras his life and also dredged up dark and painful secrets for his friend, was not something Jason found easy to reference. He had never had a brother and he never would, save for what he liked to think he shared with Pythagoras, but Jason was a firm believer in loyalty amongst your family: that Arcum had been so willing to murder his own brother had angered Jason more than he felt comfortable admitting to either of his friends.

With a reluctant sigh, Pythagoras admitted, "That is true. Though they never seem to speak of the past which makes it difficult to piece together reasons."

Jason nodded, sensing his inquisitive friend was never happy with an unsolved mystery. "Where are they now?"

Pythagoras glanced out at the darkening sky. Storm clouds were coming in fast. He must bring the washing in from the balcony and shut up the windows. "Iphicles likes his walks – he says it gives him time to think and Hercules volunteered to go with him." Which had surprised the young man – Hercules usually breathed a sigh of relief when his brother left the house. Pythagoras harboured a sinking suspicion that their friend had been trying to delay meeting Jason again. Well good! Pythagoras suddenly decided. That meant he was feeling guilty for last week's foolishness and well he should do. But he didn't want Hercules caught in the rain, either.

Thankfully, at that moment, the front door banged open and was quickly followed by two sets of heavy feet entering, stamping on the ground to either dislodge mud or else to warm them up. "Ah," Pythagoras exclaimed. "Good. Would either of you like some wine to warm up with?" He rose from the fire and went to the kitchen, pouring two more cups.

"Ah!" Hercules exclaimed, coming to join him in the kitchen, his outstretched ruddy hands and his long, satisfied sigh giving all the answer Pythagoras needed as he handed a steaming cup to his friend.

"Most kind," a deep voice rumbled, appreciatively. The man was still hanging up his cloak by the door and removing his muddy, offensive boots before entering the rest of the house. Immediately, Jason swivelled to get a look, still half-expecting to see Hercules but perhaps with a shock of curly red hair. What he saw couldn't have surprised him more.

Standing a good foot above his brother, Iphicles' broad chest and shoulders still showed the lines and tones of his muscles, even beneath his thick, green woollen tunic and though sturdy, his body was lean. He would be, Jason thought, quite an intimidating figure to meet coming down a dark alley. His dark trousers and good quality leather boots, indicated he had done well enough for himself in life and was certainly above the usual class of garments they occasionally purchased in the agora. The man's arms too, though hidden beneath long sleeves, were muscular, though what may have _begun_ as the strength of a fighting man had, over the years, been tuned and remoulded by hard, day to day work. Trying not to make his inspection too obvious, Jason tried to analyse the face he saw as Iphicles met Pythagoras in the kitchen, accepting the proffered drink with a sincere murmur of gratitude. His face bore little resemblance to his brother's, except perhaps for the set of his eyes. His face was longer, narrower and it was framed by a short-cropped head of dark blonde hair, trimmed neatly around his ears and the back of his neck. A beard, as neatly kept as the hair on his head, graced his chin but what struck Jason the most was the long, jagged white scar that ran the length of his face from just under his left eye, down to the left-hand corner of his mouth. However that had happened, though clearly long-healed over, it must have been painful.

As if aware of the scrutiny he was under, the man suddenly turned and fixed his eyes on Jason. Immediately, he blushed in embarrassment and, if anything confirmed his guilt more, looking away quickly. However, Iphicles did not appear to have taken offence. He stepped forwards towards where Jason had risen to his feet, still by the fire.

"Forgive me," the man began. "You must be Jason?"

Hesitantly, Jason nodded. Hercules had come to stand just a little behind his brother and Jason quickly caught his friend's eye. His expression was wary as he watched the exchange carefully though Jason couldn't think of a reason why. "Thank you for the use of your bed," Iphicles continued, bowing slightly at the waist. "I hope to be able to return it to you as soon as possible, once these wretched storms at sea have passed."

The man's deep voice had an oddly lulling effect. Jason smiled, bashfully. "That's fine. You don't need to rush off on my account – I'm more than happy with the temporary arrangements." Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Hercules almost bite his tongue and again, wondered at the man's strange behaviour.

"Alright everyone," Pythagoras suddenly announced. "Lunch is ready." He held in his hands a large, steaming pot of pork stew, richly filled out with carrots, beans and onions. "Hercules, can you grab the bread and Jason, can you get the bowls from the shelf?" Glad to have something to do, Jason complied and a short flurry of activity followed wherein food was laid out and eagerly served to the four hungry men, now seated around the table.

Once bowls were full and wine cups re-filled and the odd exchange of pleasant conversation had broken the ice, Pythagoras sat back a moment and beamed at everyone. "So," he announced, "I am very glad, Iphicles that you and Jason have finally got to meet. It would have been a shame indeed if you had been forced to leave without meeting the last member of our rather strange little family." Jason blushed, furiously though he gave an embarrassed smile all the same. Glancing up, he caught Hercules' eye. He and the wrestler had not had a quiet moment to themselves yet, though the guilt he often saw in his friend's eyes and, like now, the fondness (even if it _was_ a little sad) let Jason know that his previous fears of rejection were unfounded.

"Yes, Jason," Hercules added quietly, clearing his throat. The man glanced down at his bowl for a moment before making himself meet his young friend's waiting expression. "I'm sorry about last week. Don't know what I was thinking – there's plenty of room and even if there wasn't, we'd make do." He watched Jason try to wave off the apology but he knew perfectly well how relieved his friend was to hear it. He could read the signs on the boy, clear as day and the fact that he had hurt his young friend by his rejection, still stung. "We missed you." The last admittance was muttered quickly and half-masked by a slurp of a spoonful of stew but Jason heard it all the same. He grinned.

"That's okay. It's just good to be back." Turning to Pythagoras, he raised a spoonful of the stew. "This is delicious – thanks."

Pythagoras gave a modest shrug. "It's amazing what you can do when you are fortunate enough to have the right ingredients. These spices, for example…" He paused a moment in confusion, as Hercules suddenly cleared his throat, shooting a puzzled look at the wrestler. "Well…yes," he finished, rather awkwardly, unsure as to _why_ he felt he couldn't finish his sentence.

For a moment, Jason glanced curiously between his two friends before turning his attention to Iphicles. "So are you in Atlantis to visit Hercules?"

Hercules smiled tightly as Iphicles regarded him with a long, slow look. "Yes," he eventually answered. "I felt it was time to reconnect with the past."

Jason chuckled. "What was Hercules like as a child?" Pythagoras leaned forwards, grinning even as their guest waved a politely dismissive hand.

"Much as he is now. Though Time has left its mark upon us all." For a moment, he locked a meaningful look with his brother and Jason _wished_ he knew what was making Hercules so uncomfortable. Then, Iphicles turned to look, with interest, at Jason. "So, Pythagoras tells me you have a job outside of the city that takes you away from home for several days each week?"

Glancing quickly at Pythagoras, his young friend smiled and gave a short shrug, indicating that that was as far as he had got in explaining Jason's regular absence. Beside him, Hercules narrowed his eyes, presumably trying to think of a way to fill the gap. But Jason's mouth was already talking. "Uh, yes," he answered. "I work for a wealthy family on an estate outside of the city. Near the hills."

Iphicles raised a curious eyebrow. "And what is it that you do there?"

Jason glanced down at the table: he hated lying, especially on the spot. But he certainly couldn't reveal the truth. "I'm sort of whatever they need me to be – an errand boy; a guard."

At that, the tall man breathed in deeply, closing his eyes momentarily as if some kind of kindred understanding had just passed, unspoken, between the two of them. "Ah, a _guard_. A soldier. A noble profession – protecting others. _I_ was a guard once – did Hercules tell you?"

It was the most animated Jason had seen their guest become but before he could question him further, Hercules rose so quickly that he banged his thighs on the table, causing everyone's bowls to jog and all eyes to turn to him. "Iphicles!" Hercules interrupted, fixing such a look upon his brother that, even without the rest of Hercules' speech, the man understood enough to silently, discretely nod. "We need more wine. Come, help me choose a bottle in the kitchen." And with that, Hercules stumbled away from the table and backed in to the kitchen, waiting tensely for his brother to follow. Muttering a quiet apology for the interruption, Iphicles rose and excused himself to follow.

"There's not much of a choice!" Pythagoras called after them. "We only _have_ two bottles out there."

Once alone in the kitchen, Hercules rounded on his brother. "Are you out of your mind?" he insisted, in a quiet hiss. Iphicles' stony expression did not falter though he raised one eyebrow in a gesture for Hercules to explain. Seeing that his brother either refused to listen to reason or else was genuinely blind to it, Hercules rolled his eyes, checked Jason and Pythagoras were still engaged in their conversation at the table, and then leaned in a little closer to Iphicles. "Look, it's best not to dwell on the past – you understand?" Iphicles frowned. "It's not the same as you remember it out there," Hercules continued, gesturing vaguely towards the door. "Different times; different feelings. People are happy with the way things are. You just can't go round blurting out…"

"I bear no shame for my past, however you may feel differently," Iphicles shot back, though in deference to his brother's sense of urgency, he kept his voice low. Not as low as Hercules might have _liked_, of course.

"Even if it could get you killed?" he countered though something deeper, hidden and uneasy, danced just beneath the surface: an unspoken truth that neither could put voice to.

But Iphicles shook his head, laughing harshly. "With so many people in the city for the month of Poseideon, who will notice a few more strangers in their midst." His gaze turned far away for a moment and as Hercules looked up at his brother, worry filling his tired eyes, he felt a sadness enshroud the man. Abruptly, Iphicles seemed to come back to himself. "No," he announced. "You must not be concerned for me, brother." Then, before Hercules could say another word, Iphicles had already turned back to the young men at the table.

"So," he announced, coming back to join them. "It has been many years since I was last in Atlantis and I have not ventured further than the agora and a few old haunts thus far. I should be most grateful if you could all accompany me on a walk around the city tomorrow. Perhaps we can compare the old and the new? I am curious to see how my city has changed."

He re-seated himself with a polite smile and Pythagoras beamed back. Jason smiled too though there was something still bothering him – perhaps it was to do with Hercules' strange behaviour or perhaps it had something to do with the fact that every gesture of Iphicles seemed to be concealing something else? But, Pythagoras was happy enough and he had been around the man for longer.

Jason nodded. "Sounds great. What time do you want to leave?" The man had a definite military vibe about him and those kind of people formed disciplines that were very hard to break, Jason feared. The idea of cold baths at dawn, followed by an eight-mile hike was utterly unappealing to the young man. Before Iphicles could reply, however, Hercules re-joined them, quickly saying:

"I can't do tomorrow, I'm afraid. I have to work."

Pythagoras raised an eyebrow. Hercules had not had a job last night. But then, he had been out quite a bit in recent hours – perhaps this had been his endeavour? But to seek employment while his family was visiting? It felt a little strange timing especially as, with the food and drink delivered each week from the Palace, demands on their money had gradually begun to lessen.

"I didn't know you had a job," Jason exclaimed. Hercules glanced down at him with a touch of irritation.

"It's not for long. I'm just transporting some grain from a farmer's barn to his customers. Should only be a couple of days." He beamed at them all and clapped his hands together, fixing his eye on Iphicles. "I'm sure you can entertain yourself for a couple of days and then I'll be more than happy to take you on the grand tour when I'm off work." He nudged his brother's shoulder with his elbow. "I have quite a few places in mind – trust me, you're going to love them!"

Jason grinned and rolled his eyes. He somehow couldn't imagine the straight-laced Iphicles rolling out of the tavern at two in the morning with a voluptuous woman wrapped about his person, already reeking of the morning after. However, Iphicles simply turned his head towards his brother, saying: "I am sure I shall find your guidance enlightening, brother and I am sorry that you are engaged for the coming few days. However," and here he turned to the two boys, "we do not need to wait so long to take a simple walk. Would the two of you be my guides in my brother's absence?"

"Sure," Jason shrugged,

"Absolutely," Pythagoras agreed. "We would be most happy to."

For the first time since meeting him, Jason saw their guest grin. "Splendid! There, you see brother?" He reached out a hand and clapped Hercules on the shoulder. "It all works out well in the end. I'm sure your young friends and I will have much to talk about on our travels." Hercules smiled tightly and turned away but not before Jason caught the sour, darkening expression on his face.

* * *

><p>Morning light filtered through the silk hangings to cast golden rays over the Royal family's private breakfast. This was not the lavish spread reserved for formal banquets, although there would be many in Atlantis who would define <em>lavish<em> in very different terms. This table was smaller, more intimate and certainly Ariadne and occasionally, her father, appreciated the difference. This was family. Pasiphae nodded to a waiting server to refresh her glass of pomegranate juice, so much like the blood-red flow of wine. As the serving woman hurried to fulfil the Queen's request, Pasiphae sat back, silently watching her husband animatedly discussing the festivities with her stepdaughter. It was rare they _saw_ Ariadne these days, though Pasiphae could not bring herself to regret it. It had to be said that she shared far fewer barbs with the girl these days. That was certainly Jason's influence. He had a way of putting people at their ease, breaking through icy barriers with his unassuming ways and his somewhat audacious sense of humour. He could include the whole room in one sweeping smile and make you all, for a moment, forget your pettiness. With Jason around the table, Pasiphae reluctantly admitted that she too, felt the closeness the more personal setting afforded them. It really _was_ family to her, when her son was with them.

"May I be excused, Father?" Ariadne's perfectly measured tone suddenly caught Pasiphae's attention and the Queen briefly turned to look to her stepdaughter. Minos raised a surprised eyebrow.

"Already? It seems as though you have hardly sat down."

Though, when he inspected his daughter's plate, it did appear that she had finished her breakfast and the king had been satisfied that she had taken enough to begin with. This scrutiny, Minos realised, it was a fairly recent habit he had developed, although he had always been protective – some might argue _over_-protective – of his daughter. But in recent weeks, since his stepson's gradual recovery, his wife had taken to monitoring the boy's meals more carefully, starting with ensuring he made it to the table to begin with. It was a custom that he, both as husband and stepfather, had quickly found himself supporting her in. He smiled to himself as he recalled the first few battle of wills between themselves and the young man. It had sometimes required a mixture of gentle persuasion, threats and cunning to achieve their aim, but the boy usually capitulated in the end.

Though getting him to the table had been only half the battle: seeing that he ate enough to satisfy his basic needs was sometimes another challenge in and of itself. It was not that Jason appeared to dislike time spent with the family – indeed, their conversations could be light-hearted, warm and witty, particularly with a fine bottle of wine shared around the family. However, as time wore on there was always _somewhere else_ Jason needed to be, rather than sitting around a table – something he needed to be doing. Minos got the impression that meal-times with his friends were far simpler affairs and over much more quickly. Jason's energy levels were astounding at times though his impatience _did_ help to ensure that he ate enough to satisfy his mother's expectations, in order to be excused from the table as quickly as possible. No, he was a good lad but Minos had built up a certain amount of caution and suspicion over his eating habit and, alas, Ariadne had been caught up in that same suspicion. He just couldn't help himself: if _one_ developed such strange behaviour, who was to say the _other_ one would not also? After all, they did spend more and more time together.

However, this was not the case today. Ariadne smiled at him. "I know and I do miss our conversations. But the people are bringing offerings to the Temple throughout the week and I told Melas I would be there to help with the sanctification."

Minos nodded. "And it does the people good to see their Princess, performing her duties alongside them." Absently, Pasiphae also nodded her agreement, unseen by the others. Though the girl's piety could be somewhat nauseating at times, she represented the family well, amongst the rank and file of Atlantis.

"Very well," the king agreed, leaning to kiss his daughter on the cheek as she rose from the table. "But do not forget your family here," he teased. "I have heard tell that the artists have arrived already." Minos looked to his wife for confirmation – no-one entered or left the Palace without the mistress of the house knowing.

Pasiphae nodded once more. "Indeed. I have sent them to the North Tower to set up their work."

"Splendid."

Ariadne gave a short bow to her parents: "I shall not forget. I shall return as soon as the morning offerings are complete." And then she turned and gracefully swept out of the room as a servant immediately moved in to clear her place away and refresh any plates or cups that were deemed to be wanting.

Once the servants had moved away again, to stand at the walls of the room, Minos turned to his wife: "Speaking of the artists, we must be sure Jason is ready."

The queen took a sip of her drink before carefully replacing it on the table. "I shall speak to him on his return." She paused a moment. "As we have not seen him since yesterday, we can _assume_ he actually stayed in the city." Her tone was still a little frosty on the subject. Jason had assured her that he left of his own volition but, as far as she was concerned, that was not the point. She _entrusted_ her son to these _friends_ of his - to this man, _Hercules_ – when he was not with her. She did not send him out for three days to simply wander aimlessly. Not that he _had_ but that was an entirely different matter to make her seethe.

Minos tore a piece of bread, dipping it in a small bowl of olive oil and herbs. "Is he going to see Aeson afterwards?"

His wife shook her head, a smug smile on her lips. "No. Jason is still too hurt, too angry. It will not last long but, given Aeson's ability to turn his affection on and off at a moment's notice, it will also not be long before he hurts the boy again."

Minos sighed, though he did not appear to disagree with his wife. "It _is_ regrettable for Jason," he admitted. "But it works out well for us. Do you suppose Aeson even knows he is pushing his son away?"

He watched Pasiphae scoff. "Aeson cannot imagine why _anyone_ would not love and dote over him or picture a time when Jason will not blindly follow him and hang off his every word and though I would dearly love to march into that colony and give him a piece of my mind, I shall not dissuade him from his folly. Let Jason see him for the man he is and the sooner we can put that wretched man out of our lives."

Pasiphae paused a moment, tearing a less than lady-like chunk out of her bread. It appeared that when alone with her husband and when discussing her son and her _ex_-husband, her mannerisms could become quite savage.

"Jason _loves_ his father," Minos felt obliged to point out, unsure why he was supporting his rival. "And he usually returns so _happy_ from his visits." Perhaps that was it: very simply, it made the boy happy.

"Oh, perhaps," she muttered, tersely. "But that will only serve Aeson for so long. The Gods _know_ that Jason and I have our fights," she continued, "but I am trying to love him for who he _is _and not the young man I had _imagined_ he would be." Pasiphae stopped and sighed, softly. "I know I must try harder – let him know how proud I am of him, just the way he is."

"I am sure he knows, my love. Though if you wanted to say it again, I do not imagine he will tire of hearing it." A sort of sad pensiveness began to build around the Queen like a dark, permeating cloud as she nodded, silently. To Minos, the darkness only served to make her more beautiful, more open.

"What troubles you?"

Abruptly, the Queen looked up and smiled, a little too quickly. "Nothing, my Lord." Then she saw her husband's canny expression and sighed, sharply. Since when had Minos developed such perception, she wondered begrudgingly. Seeing that he would not let the matter drop until she satisfied his curiosity, Pasiphae relented just a little. "I try and I try with Jason but it appears I am fated to always make the same mistakes: I judge him too harshly, I do not always see his value until he is walking away from me and then I must scramble to show him that I _have_ noticed. But with _you_, he seems far more at ease. You see a side to my son that I do not and I…I _wish_ I could talk to him as you do."

With a sad smile, Minos reached across the table and took his wife's hand, squeezing her fingers gently. "You are a good mother, Pasiphae. Trust that you have a good son and let your love speak for you, let is _see_ for you. You and he are not as distant as you fear, believe me."

Pasiphae quickly returned the pressure on his fingers before carefully releasing him, indicating their moment of intimacy was over. "Thank you," she smiled. "But now we must put such topics to rest. I believe there is a busy day ahead for both of us." Signalling her intentions carefully, the queen turned back to her breakfast, relieved when Minos did the same. Advice from her husband was difficult to hear as the pride prickled in her chest. But, all things considered and for the sake of her son, perhaps on this one occasion, it would not hurt to listen to him?

* * *

><p>Jason grinned as his feet landed with a satisfying squelch into the thick mud on the other side of the wooden fence. The lower half of his trousers were slathered in dark mud and the child in Jason still enjoyed the free abandon of getting thoroughly encased in dirt. Ahead of him, Iphicles waited in the barren field, ploughed of its crops and the soil ready to be turned and the stones dug out. He smiled as he watched the young man leap the fence, ignoring the stile and the more controlled landing that it would have afforded him. Jason caught his knowing eye and ducked his head, bashfully as he trotted over to join him. Jason, Iphicles thought to himself, was certainly an energetic one and no doubt made sure Hercules had to run to keep up with him. As Jason reached him they both turned and waited patiently for Pythagoras to join them. While certainly not unfit in any way, the young mathematician, Iphicles noted, was not in as much of a hurry as Jason and took careful measure to avoid large bogs of mud, where there was an easy route around it. He also made proper use of the stile to ease his landing and in so doing, was far cleaner than his young companion. The blonde boy had a sharp mind, he noted: often, over the last few nights, he had enthused to him not only about his love of triangles – an interest he himself had little opinion on though he knew of plenty of men who shared such love of academia – but also on mathematics, the sciences and the world in general. The large man was not, it had to be said, a particularly educated man but he appreciated it in others and listening to Pythagoras' earnestness had been quietly satisfying.<p>

"Were these fields when you were a boy?" Jason asked, as Pythagoras joined them, casting a withering look at the state of Jason's clothing and the mud he would no doubt traipse through his clean house – unless he took his boots off at the door, which the genius had every intention of making him do.

The three continued trudging along the pathway, towards the other end of the field. "It was forest when I last came here," Iphicles said. He indicated the landscape with a wide sweep of his arm. "From the ridge to the stream, all tall sturdy trees and excellent hunting. You could find many a deer if you ventured out early enough and were light-footed."

Jason snickered. "Did Hercules score on any of those counts?" Pythagoras' eyes widened and he elbowed Jason in the ribs with a quiet hiss of surprise. However, he could not help the guilty smile that spread across his face. With Jason as a co-conspirator it was bloody difficult to avoid being drawn in to his friend's often wicked sense of humour sometimes.

Momentarily worried that he might have offended Iphicles, Jason winced. "Sorry," he apologised. But looking up at their strange guest, Jason breathed a silent sigh of relief when he saw the man chuckle. There had been no malice in the lad's jest. Those two boys, he reasoned, clearly loved his brother and his brother was just as devoted to them. If he had not been told differently, Iphicles had half expected Hercules to explain to him that these were his sons not his friends, his wife for some reason, no longer sharing their lives.

Shaking his head, he placed a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Hercules had a good eye for hunting," he said. "But perhaps he did not see so well in the early morning light. But this soil," he remarked, stooping to scoop a sample up in his hand, "is too good for forestry and the land too flat." He spread his fingers a little, teasing the rich soil through his fingers. "See that colour? Rich and fertile. And the sun," he continued, pointing to where it would have been, had it not been cast behind a pearly cloud of sky, "is in just the right position to give the crops what they need, whilst being sheltered from the worst of the wind by the hills." He looked around him and breathed in deeply. "No, this was a wise move."

They continued on their way down the path, Jason and Pythagoras pausing when they spotted something of interest such as coins or arrowheads, in the churned up earth. Iphicles watched them with a growing indulgence as they showed each other their finds, either pocketing them or else tossing them back into the furrows. "You seem to know a lot about farming," Pythagoras remarked, lightly.

"A fair bit. I own some farms in Athens – vineyards, mostly."

Pythagoras looked anew at him. "I had no idea. I somehow imagined something…different." Though he blushed at the sudden thought that Iphicles might ask him what his first impression _was_. Fortunately, it appeared Iphicles was either not a curious man or not particularly self-obsessed.

The man laughed. "I know a little of the mechanics of it all but I must confess that I have very able men who manage and run the estates for me." Then he paused in their journey and glanced over at Pythagoras, his gaze speculative. "I am in need of someone such as yourself, as it happens. Someone with a good head for figures and an agile mind to handle the accounts of the vineyard in Athens." Pythagoras' eyes widened.

"Me?"

Jason, too stopped and turned to them, a question in his dark eyes. Pythagoras sputtered for a moment, wrestling with the idea. "Work for you? In Athens?" His blue eyes widened as he worried his lower lip. The tall man gave a neutral shrug.

"If you have no interest in Athens and in leaving Atlantis, I would understand. But I thought the city might interest you and the work is not as dull as it might sound. But no matter. The offer is there and I shall leave you to consider or dismiss it as you will." Then Iphicles abruptly turned. "Now let us press on. There is still much to see." And with that, he strode away, his longer legs covering almost twice the span that either Jason or Pythagoras could manage. Jason still stared curiously at Pythagoras as they stayed behind a moment. Catching his intent eye, Pythagoras laughed lightly, blushing.

"That's an interesting offer," Jason began, hoping to draw his friend out into a discussion. But Iphicles was moving further ahead and his blonde friend, clearly embarrassed, merely shook his head, waving off Jason's statement.

"It doesn't matter," he insisted quietly. "Just silly nonsense. Now, we mustn't get too far behind or we'll never catch up." With out another word, Pythagoras set off, following where their guest had led, picking his way around the boggier patches. Jason stood just a moment longer, watching after him, his dark curls blowing in the wind. Pythagoras had clearly felt uncomfortable by the prospect and certainly shocked. But he hadn't exactly said no.

* * *

><p>It was near dark when the three returned, weary and seeped with cold, to the little house. As soon as Pythagoras pushed open the door, the warm, golden glow of the lamps and the crackle of the roaring fire spread out to greet them. All three paused in the open doorway for a moment, soaking up the comforting warmth. The wind had picked up on their journey back, whipping about them and straight through the thin cloaks of the younger two and as they had rounded the corner onto their street, the heavens had finally opened. Pythagoras didn't exactly have much meat on his bones to temper the biting effects but it was not himself that he worried for. As the air had thinned and the journey continued, Pythagoras could not help but cast worried glances over to where Jason tried to unsuccessfully smother cough after cough, finally stopping by the hedgerows, almost doubled over to the point where the young mathematician worried he might retch. Gone were thoughts of the mess his young friend would make of his nice clean house. Instead, all he wanted to do was bundle him next to the fire with a soothing tonic for his chest. Perhaps, if he was careful not to nag too much, he might persuade Jason to get an early night?<p>

"Are you lot going to stand there all night with the wind and rain blowing into every corner of what used to be my warm house?" The sharp rumble from the house suddenly snapped Pythagoras, and indeed all of them, from their basking. With a start, Pythagoras hastily turned and shut the door, leaving the howling wind behind them and mumbling a quiet apology as he did so. Iphicles took off his cloak and hung it by the door, choosing to ignore his brother's irate grumble. Perhaps he was all too used to the bark without the bite, having grown up in the man's company?

Jason quietly prised his muddy boots off and left them by the door. He had grown quieter and quieter on the last leg of their trip and now, it seemed, he was content to just melt into the background entirely. His shoulders slightly hunched and his head bowed, Jason trundled into the house, heading straight to his makeshift sleeping area to fish out a clean set of clothes. They weren't his warmest, unfortunately, but they would have to do. Of course, he had a wonderfully warm, thick, woolen set of clothes at the Palace but the mere thought of wearing those here was out of the question. Having pulled out the only other set of clothes he possessed, Jason glanced apprehensively about the room. Had it been only the three of them, he wouldn't have hesitated to strip off his muddy clothes where he stood, redressing in strategic stages. After his little stint as a dog, there really wasn't much left to his friends' imaginations. But with their guest around, he felt it inappropriate.

"And just what kept you so long? I thought you'd be back hours ago."

Hercules' hard, suspicious voice, coming from right behind him made Jason spin around, immediately setting off another round of coughing. Instantly, the older man narrowed his eyes in concern as Pythagoras came to join them. "Perhaps the lecture can wait, Hercules?" Pythagoras said quietly, not wanting to embarrass Jason. "Jason needs a change of clothes and to warm up first." But his gentle lecture was unnecessary. As soon as the older man had got a good look at the lad, he had formed the same conclusion, narrowing his eyes almost dangerously. Jason, his head bowed from the coughing, missed the gesture but Pythagoras did not. Inwardly, the young genius smirked. Even if Jason tried to resist his ministrations (though looking at him, he wasn't sure his friend would object _too_ much) it looked as though he had Hercules on his side and when the wrestler threw his weight into an argument, Jason stood very little chance of winning.

The man nodded brusquely. He put a hand on Jason's shoulder and began steering him towards his own room. "You can change in my room," he announced. "But don't you get mud everywhere. Honestly, have you been rolling in it?" He didn't give Jason a chance to answer as he bundled him off. Shoving the startled boy into his room, Jason turned to face him before he shut the door, a question on his lips. But once more, Hercules cut him off. "And when you get out of there, Pythagoras will have some disgusting drink for you and you'd better drink all of it or I'll pack you straight off to bed." A frown that morphed into a small scowl, knotted the centre of Jason's forehead as he narrowed his eyes and Hercules slammed the door shut in his face.

"It won't be _disgusting_," Pythagoras muttered, mostly to himself as Hercules had already turned away in a huff. "Honey and lemon is very soothing." But no-one was listening and it was good, he supposed, that he and Hercules were joined in purpose. So he quietly made his way into the kitchen and began heating the water. There was some left-over soup still sitting in an iron pot by the stove and, he surmised, something hot would go down well with_ all_ of them.

Hercules turned to look back at the closed door to his room, frowning when he thought about how long Jason had been trudging about in the cold for, not to mention the company he was in.

"Is Jason alright?"

Iphicles low voice startled him and Hercules turned to face his brother's concerned expression. His eyes narrowed. "He's fine. Nothing for you to worry about."

"He just seems a little unwell…"

"Well don't drag them over hill and dale in the middle of winter for hours on end, and they'll be fine, won't they?" And with that, Hercules turned and stomped over to the kitchen, intent on hovering over Pythagoras' shoulder as he prepared the food and drink, until Iphicles took note of his hostility and moved away.

* * *

><p>When Jason had emerged, clean and dry, from Hercules' room, he had obligingly taken the hot honey and lemon drink (pleased it was actually a pleasant mix) and allowed himself to be led to sit by the fire, a blanket around his shoulders. Eventually, the fire had proved too much and Jason had let the blanket slide to the floor. Since his colour and breathing had much improved, no-one objected. Pythagoras had set next to him, eating a bowl of beef broth which, Jason noted, the others also enjoyed though further away and seated around the table. Hercules, he realised, spent most of his time in between trying to make small talk with his brother, watching Iphicles through suspicious eyes. There was something…odd about his friend's behaviour that night, as though there was something he wanted to say, something he wanted to ask but couldn't bring himself to. Every now and then, Hercules would look up and catch Jason's eye and then give one of his wide, concealing smiles as if Jason were one of the city guards that Hercules routinely tried to evade with charming deception.<p>

Eventually, the two older men had excused themselves and taken themselves off to bed, the weight of the day on their aging bones, finally catching up with them. Pythagoras had gone to clean up the kitchen, immediately dismissing Jason's offer to help. He liked things done a certain way anyway and Jason usually ended up hanging a utensil where it didn't belong. And so, Jason – for whom sleep did not come so easily – found himself sitting at the table, the blanket once more wrapped around his shoulders as the fire had reduced to a warm glow. He glanced up as a shadow fell across him to see Pythagoras watching him with a kind smile.

"I thought you would have gone to sleep yourself." Jason smiled knowingly, causing his young friend to hastily add, "I'm not nagging. I just thought you'd be tired after all the traipsing about." With a gentle sigh, Pythagoras eased himself down onto the wooden bench that Jason had just shuffled along to allow him room. He watched the young man softly shake his head, turning to face him, his face gently lit from the dying fire.

"I wasn't tired," Jason admitted. "Well, my body is but my mind's still awake. Figured I'd just sit here for a while." He indicated his makeshift bed, placed near the hearth. "Not like I have far to go to fall into bed." Pythagoras laughed quietly, in agreement. "What about you?" Jason pressed. "That kitchen was clean about an hour ago, even by your standards." He watched his blonde friend keenly, noting the way Pythagoras suddenly blushed and looked away, as if caught out in a lie. The young genius began unconsciously playing with the hem of his robe. Something in Jason's gut began to turn. "You're thinking about Iphicles' offer, aren't you?" he asked, kindly, trying not to let either his eyes or his voice betray his emotions and stop his friend from opening up to him, when he so clearly needed to. Pythagoras leaving Atlantis seemed almost an impossible scenario to imagine. He loved the city, he was content here.

But then, Jason wondered uneasily, what if he _did_ accept his role at the Palace? What if he _did_ decide to marry Ariadne? He would spend more and more time away. Was it fair to expect his friends to just be waiting here for him? Never moving on with their lives. Never changing. Next to him, Pythagoras finally looked up to him with honest, wrought blue eyes.

"I don't know," he admitted in a frustrated sigh. "On the one hand I can never imagine leaving Atlantis, leaving Hercules. I don't know what he'd do without me sometimes – how he'd keep enough food in the house to last him through winter." Jason grinned, making some of the tension leave his young friend's shoulders as the genius found himself smiling back.

"But on the other hand?" Jason prompted, nudging him gently with his elbow. A knowing, indulgent smile was on his face, despite the pain in his chest and seeing it, Pythagoras reluctantly allowed his own smile to stay a little longer.

"It's _Athens_!" he exclaimed, as if that alone should be all he needed to say. "I have sometimes _dreamed_ of living there. The buildings, the universities, the _thinkers_! They _thrive_ in such a place – they are the heart and soul behind the city. To say the offer is tempting is…" Suddenly, he glanced down in embarrassment, shame creeping over his face. "Listen to me – talking such nonsense. I don't even know why I'm even considering such an offer. It was flattering, nothing more. I could never leave my friends, leave Atlantis. Why would I ever want to?"

_But I might be leaving anyway_, Jason thought grimly. _And Hercules, no matter what he boasts, won't be here for ever. And as for Atlantis_?

Jason sighed and for a moment, bowed his head to his chest, a dozen cold thoughts, trying to drown him, chilling him to the depths. After a moment longer he raised his head to meet Pythagoras' worried expression. "I don't want you to leave," he admitted. "And there are plenty of reasons for you to stay, just as you said. But nothing stays the same forever, no matter how much we want it to. I'm learning that one pretty quickly." He paused and smiled, ruefully, his youthful features suddenly aged and weary. "And you know, though you can't see it now, there are some pretty good reasons for maybe getting out of Atlantis, too. But only you can decide. Just know I'll be behind you, whatever you choose."

Pythagoras' eyes shone brightly for a moment as he listened to his friend's comforting advice. Jason often acted as though he were clueless, naive of the world. But there was a keen intelligence behind those gentle eyes. He wrapped a thin arm around the lad's shoulders. "Thank you, Jason. I shall think about it, though I doubt I shall change my mind." Then he rose to his feet. "But I am tired now and I think I shall go to bed."

"Goodnight," Jason said, smiling as he watched him stretch, cat-like.

"Goodnight," Pythagoras returned. "And though I fear this _may_ be nagging, don't stay up too late." And Jason chuckled softly to himself, nodding his understanding as his friend disappeared into his room.

* * *

><p>That's it for now. Thanks for reading this far. I hope you enjoyed it.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Five of Swords - Chapter 4

Standard disclaimer applies in that I don't own any of them – the BBC does.

A/N – I'm sorry these chapters have such long delays between them. Life and work are conspiring to beat me into the ground at the moment but I have finally managed to force a little time in there for myself. I hope you enjoy this chapter, for whatever it's worth. Thank you for the reviews to chapter 3 – they all helped to push me on to getting this one, painfully slowly, out! And thank you to _ash_, who I can't thank privately.

Chapter 4

The door shut softly behind him as Jason emerged from his morning's lessons. He slung his bag over his shoulder as he trotted to the tower's narrow, winding staircase. It was almost midday and they would be ringing the gong for lunch soon. Acrion had been pleased with his progress that morning and even the dreaded translations had gone well. Jason smiled to himself as he wound his way back down to the ground floor. Old Acrion, perhaps in deference to Jason's increasing progress or perhaps because he sensed his student's enthusiasm ebbing, had promised him a revised programme of study in the coming months: the thought of a break from the endless reams of History, Law and Politics had an uplifting affect on Jason's outlook. Since Poseideon was upon them, the old man had suggested they look at Greece's many festivals and civic rituals. Jason had been more than happy to agree though he sincerely doubted he would escape Translation, whatever the root of his study.

As he headed into the little courtyard, linking two wings of the Palace together, Jason turned in surprise when he heard his mother's voice coming from behind him. The young man paused, watching Pasiphae emerge from the North Tower, her hair elaborately bound up in its habitual tresses, her expression warm and smiling. "Jason," she called again, now that she had seen him wait for her. He grinned as she reached him, leaning in to kiss her lightly on the cheek.

"Hi," he greeted. He eyed the tower thoughtfully. "What are you doing in the Tower? You're normally terrorising servants in the dining hall by now." He suddenly grinned, impishly. "You're not still checking up on me, are you?" he teased. "I _did_ make it to my lessons this morning." The dark-haired boy held up his leather bag, even as the queen delicately rolled her eyes. "I have the work to prove it."

"Hmm," she remarked, folding her arms across her abdomen, amusement softening her frown. "But not to _breakfast_, I might point out." Jason's smile slipped a little and he glanced guiltily at the ground, prepared for another lecture.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I woke up late and I didn't want to be late for Acrion." Still looking at his feet, he heard his mother sigh softly. She had begun to hope they were past this evasiveness and that she could now trust him to make a regular appearance at the dining table. Perhaps she had been too quick in her assessment? Still, it was not the matter she had sought him out for.

"See that you find your way to the midday meal," Pasiphae instructed gently and Jason glanced up in surprise, sure he had been in for a more scathing response than that. Seeing his surprise and enjoying being able to temporarily silence her increasingly quick-tongued son, Pasiphae allowed herself a careful smile, just creasing the corners of her otherwise schooled face. "I did not seek you out for remonstration or to check on your learning." She watched as a sigh of relief escaped her son and batted him lightly in the middle of his chest.

"Let us continue inside," she announced. "This is not the weather to be standing about in." Since his illness, she had noted a sharp, alarming cough that still came over her son when the cold temperatures seeped into his lungs. The queen had hoped that, given time, good food and plenty of soothing warm drinks, the symptoms would ease but it did not seem to be the case. Several times she had glanced out of a casement to see Jason almost doubled over with the exertion to breathe properly after returning from an outing in the cold. Her strong, beautiful boy should not be hindered by any illness, especially one whose cause they had already rooted out months ago. _Why_ was the boy so susceptible to every common illness known to man? It baffled her sometimes. Jason had never been a _weak_ child so why was the young man so? With steely grit, Pasiphae reasoned that another visit to the physicians may well be in order whether her stubborn, headstrong son agreed with her assessment or not. It was either that, she decided, or Jason simply did not venture out into the dropping temperatures in the first place and she was relatively confident which of the two evils the boy would prefer.

The two walked silently into the warmth of the Palace, where burning torches on the wall immediately radiated out their heat. Unconsciously, Jason relaxed some of his aching muscles when he felt them gently touched by it. Pasiphae led them both to sit on a small window seat, beneath the flickering flames of a torch. "So what did you want to talk to me about?" Jason wondered, relieved now that the prospect of a well-meaning lecture on his eating habits was safely past.

Pasiphae smiled and placed a hand on his arm. "The Poseideon marks the start of a tradition, long-standing in our family." Something flashed across the queen's eyes for just a moment – something distant and Jason briefly wondered what it might be. It was also unlike her to use the word _family_ so freely. Curious, Jason raised his eyebrows in a silent prompt for her to continue.

"A portrait," Pasiphae supplied. "Painted every five years onto a wall in one of the private rooms for the family, within the North Tower. We always begin after the Haloea." She watched the uncertainty wash across her son's face and shook her head with a fond laugh. "Do not worry – the painting itself may take over a month to complete but the amount of time we shall be required to sit for will not nearly amount to so much. I would not ask you to be so still for so long," she teased. "I recognise a losing battle before I begin one."

Removing her hand from his arm, she moved it to quickly pat his leg. "They have begun the background already – that is what I was checking on when I saw you leave the Tower. But we must briefly meet with the artisans tomorrow to discuss the arrangements. I shall make sure it is at a time when you can attend."

Aware suddenly of pressing matters she had yet to attend to, Pasiphae made to leave but suddenly paused. Intent as she had been on explaining their custom, the queen regarded her son thoughtfully when she realised she had not actually given the boy a chance to respond. "Jason?" she asked, sitting back down next to him. "Is this alright? I promise I shall make it as convenient as possible. You shall not be asked to miss your days with your friends." Though if that situation _did_ arise, she hoped she and the boy could come to some kind of an arrangement and that he would not argue _too_ stubbornly. Gently, Pasiphae took Jason's fingers in her hand and gave them a light, reassuring squeeze. It startled her then, when she felt her son carefully pull his hand from her touch, already inching back from her on the seat.

"I can't," Jason began, earnestly, shaking his head.

Forcing herself not to reach out and touch him again when he clearly wished for his space, Pasiphae neatly folded her hands in her lap, noting for the first time the way her son's expression had become both nervous and torn. Her stomach muscles began to clench, uncomfortably. "Jason? Is something wrong?" She willed her voice to remain calm. It had to be a misunderstanding that they could quickly clear up. That was all.

But Jason still shook his head, his expression anxious. It belied something else, she realised suddenly. Something that had the lad unsettled. "I can't do this portrait," Jason insisted vehemently, panic underlying his tone. "I'm sorry but it's just not going to happen. I'm not a part of all this." He didn't see the way his mother flinched as he gestured around them both. "I don't belong on that wall and besides, I don't know what might happen in the future and then you might have to take me _off_ it and…" He trailed off, standing up and folding his arms tightly across his chest, head bowed. Pasiphae remained seated, looking up at him in growing confusion and alarm. Jason sighed sharply. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "But don't you see? If I'm there, on that wall, forever, it's…_permanent_. And people might see. Not just _us_, but _other_ people. They'd know." Jason stared down at the queen with wide, imploring eyes. "You're just going to have to do it without me." He turned away from her, muttering as he did so: "It's not like it'll make a difference – there's still plenty of people."

And with that, Jason hurried away from Pasiphae and her loaded requests that tried to fix him to a path that he didn't even know how long he would be travelling _on_. God – his future was the one thing Jason steadfastly tried his hardest not to dwell on. The choice he thought he would immediately dismiss had, over the last few months, grown steadily more familiar and comfortable. His life with his friends still called to him like a siren song, even if Pythagoras made a new life in Athens. Maybe he could go too? The thought had occurred to him. Make a break, take off, leave Atlantis and all its worries behind. Hercules could be persuaded to come with them. But what of Ariadne? Jason knew, in his heart, that she would never leave her city. Her people. Not even for him. Already, Jason's heart twisted as panic gripped him and his head swam.

He had to get out of the Palace for a while – get some air, clear his head. The city, strangely, felt too daunting a prospect as the walls closed in around him. Too many people, too many conflicting associations. But the gardens would do nicely. He would wander, losing himself amongst their paths and orchards and towering trees for hours, until the exposing light of day gave way to the comforting shroud of darkness.

Pasiphae's voice, quiet and low, stopped him before he moved out of her sight, however.

"Jason. It…it would make a difference to me."

Jason half turned to look back at her. She was still seated on the bench, looking after him with an expression he found difficult to read. Mentally, he sighed. Pasiphae did not take well to being refused, he reasoned, but eventually, his mother would get over it. Giving her a sad, half smile, he turned back around with a heavy swing of his head and continued on his way.

* * *

><p>Jason had been nestled in the curved u-shaped base of a birch tree, his back and legs snugly fitting into the tree's secure hold, when the first rumble of thunder echoed across the land. Not especially concerned, he glanced up at what sky he could see through the tree's thinning canopy and the other fauna around him, buried as he was, deep within the small woodland surrounding the Palace gardens. In some surprise, he noted how quickly the dark clouds had blanketed the sky. Although he knew, as he had idled his way through the gardens, that time <em>had<em> been pressing on, Jason was still a little shocked at how long he had been wandering. He pulled his tunic closer about himself as he shivered.

Another rumble, this one louder, cracking the sky in two. Jason reached down to the leafy ground beneath and withdrew his leather bag. If the heavens should open, he didn't want to risk the scrolls inside being damaged. Instead, Jason hugged the leather to his chest, feeling a little warmer for doing so and closed his eyes against the approaching storm, leaning his head back against the gnarled bark. The storm in his own heart had slowly, over time spent distancing himself from his thoughts, abated until only a firm resolve remained: he truly _had_ begun to love his family – all of them. But asking him to stand with them and be counted…that was something it wasn't fair of them to ask. Not yet.

The first fat drops of rain began to fall, lightly at first, just pattering over the treetops. Soon, however, they came in faster downpours, falling in straight, translucent sheets all around him and hammering, with a gentle roar, against the woodland floor. Jason sighed as the rain pelted his head, dripping down his face and along the back of his neck. 'She'll know I'm outside somewhere,' he thought with a mental sigh. 'If I get soaked through, she'll never let me hear the end of it.' And so, with a heavy exhale, Jason climbed out of his low-lying nest and stretched the kinks out of his back, having been curved for so long. A crack of thunder rumbled across the Earth, followed quickly by a flash of lightning that lit the sky. Jason glanced up at the sky and smiled. The idea that the lightning might pose a threat to him, never really settled in Jason's mind. He'd always found the powerful energy of storms to be somewhat exhilarating. With a soft laugh, Jason looked down at his tunic and ruefully admitted to himself that he was indeed thoroughly soaked through already, the fabric clinging heavily to every inch of skin. Oh well. No point in hurrying back now – the damage was done.

He slung his bag over one shoulder, checking the straps were as securely fastened as they could be and that the scrolls inside would not get wet. Acrion would be less than impressed, Jason knew, if he were to bring only a soggy pulp of parchment to his next lesson. Then he leisurely retraced his path through the winding trees, semi-sheltered by the overhanging branches, until the grandiose of the Palace once more rose into sight as he emerged from the tree line. He watched, with some measure of sympathy, the frantic dash of those servants carrying baskets and trays of various contents from the vegetable gardens to the kitchens, and others whose jobs necessitated them being out of doors. Some had managed to throw cloaks over their heads, but the unfortunate few who had been caught unaware, simply had to run faster.

The sky was once more rent in two by a crack of thunder that seemed to explode behind him. It made him jump, his heart hammering in his chest but it was the following crash, a second later, so loud he would swear it had been a bomb exploding that made him stumble forwards a step. Something struck him on the back – several _somethings_ though they did not seem to harm him. As the sky had lit up with jagged streaks of lightning, from further away near the Palace kitchens, Jason heard high-pitched, startled screams. He spun around to the sound of the crack. A giant oak, some feet behind him, smouldered in the driving rain. He couldn't be sure if he could see the glow of flames or not as the rain beat down in-front of his eyes. It looked as if a deep crack now ran the length of the tree's trunk, dividing it neatly down the middle. Huge chunks of bark were scattered around the base of it. Jason felt, for the first time, a chill run down his spine. His ears still echoed with the deafening explosion and the young man picked up his pace as the thunder rang out once more, the light quickly flashing across the darkened sky.

Reaching the kitchen door, Jason darted through to a few surprised looks from the maids and cooks, shutting it heavily behind him.

"Are you alright, my Lord?" The cook, a kind, matronly woman asked, stepping forwards as Jason leaned against the door. She did not much like the shade of his skin, nor the way his arms seemed to tremble. Jason swallowed, reflexively and turned to her.

"Yes," he muttered, eyes already darting around her and to his exit. "I'm fine, thanks." Before she could question him further or press any food or drink into his hand, Jason nipped around her and quickly left the kitchens behind, seeking out the back staircase that would lead him up to the wing of the family where their bedrooms and private chambers were housed. It was technically meant for the lower servants – a discrete entry and exit from the main staircase – but Jason didn't mind and didn't much care about any scolding he might receive on his lack of propriety, should either the king or queen catch him. He shivered again as he emerged from the top of the staircase into the family's corridor, his whole body shaking. Leaning against the wall for a moment, Jason closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling slightly nauseous. The ringing in his ears was finally dimming down.

"Jason?"

He looked up with a startled jump, taking a moment longer than usual to recognise the king's deep voice. "Your Majesty," he replied automatically, glad that his brain and mouth appeared to be functioning on a fairly normal level, despite his thudding pulse and the tightening in his chest. Minos drew level with him from where he approached further down the corridor. A sheaf of papers was in one hand, tied carefully around with twine. They looked official, if the seals were anything to go by. But Minos did not make mention of them. Instead, he reached out his other hand and gently but firmly, placed it around Jason's upper arm.

The king looked at his stepson, intently. "Jason?" he asked again, taking in the drenched and shivering sight of him. "Are you alright? Your mother could not find you within the Palace walls and said you were therefore likely outside today. I take it you were caught in the storm?" He could feel the arm trembling with minute vibrations beneath his touch.

Jason blinked at him before finally nodding. "Yes Sire. But I came in as soon as it all started." 'Deep breaths,' Jason silently commanded himself. 'Take deep breaths and pull yourself together.' Minos let his hand drop and took a step back, measuring the boy up with the length of his stare. Jason could not help but feel as though his explanation had not met with the king's approval. The man's eyes were hard and suspicious.

"In any event," Minos remarked. "You clearly need a change of clothes and to spend a fair amount of time warming by a fire."

Jason gave a half nod, though he made no comment on the advice. Or had it been an order? It was hard to tell with Minos. Instead he asked: "Were you looking for me, Your Majesty?" That in itself was a little unusual – Minos normally sent a servant to find him if he requested his presence – or else his mother. Minos nodded though he had already begun to walk, forcing Jason to follow him.

"I was – to ask for your help in a matter involving these petitions." He briefly held up the papers in his hand. "But all of that can wait until you are settled." The king abruptly stopped walking, causing Jason to almost stumble into him. It took a moment longer for Jason to realise that they were standing outside his own bedroom. Without a word of invitation, the king opened the door and peered inside.

"Ah," he remarked. "Good. The fire has been lit. I shall leave you to dry out and to change and then when you are ready I should like to speak with you before dinner." Numbly, his mind still a few seconds behind the conversation, Jason nodded once more, pausing in the doorway.

A clattering of footsteps approaching from the main staircase suddenly drew their attention to the side. Minos and Jason watched as the Captain of the Guards – a reasonably adept man in his late forties, who said very little unless it was needed - approached, his expression calm but obviously intent on conveying news. Minos stepped forwards. "Captain?" he asked.

"Your Highness." The man bowed his head, one hand on his chest as he stopped in-front of the king. "We have had reports of lightning striking something within the Palace grounds and possible smoke rising. The Palace itself seems in tact but I will send men out to patrol the out-buildings. If there is a fire, the chances are the rain will see to it but the men will be sure of it nonetheless."

Though the king did not appear especially alarmed, he gave a nod of acknowledgement. "Very good, Captain. I will admit that I did wonder when I heard the crash. See that none have been injured and besides your men on patrol, keep all others inside. This storm does not show signs of letting up." As if to prove the king's words, another crash rumbled through the Palace walls.

"It was just a tree."

Jason's quiet voice almost startled Minos, who had temporarily forgotten the boy was still there. He was just on the verge of ordering the lad into his room straight away when Minos paused, Jason's words registering through his busy thoughts.

"What did you say?"

"It was just a tree," Jason repeated. "The old oak, by the entrance to the woodland at the east side of the gardens. It's split down the middle but I don't think it's burning and any way, the rain was so heavy, it wouldn't last long." For a moment, Minos did not reply, though his eyes twitched in the corners. Jason felt again the tightness stretch across his chest as Minos sharply turned back to the guard.

"Captain – go and see to this at once."

With a short bow, the man left as instructed, striding down the corridor with large, purposeful steps. As soon as he had turned down the staircase, Minos rounded on Jason, gripping him once more around the top of his arm, but this time not so gently. "You were in the woods during this storm?" he demanded, incredulously. He gave the boy a firm shake, his eyes wide with worry. "You were there when it happened?"

Jason gulped, licking his dry lips as Minos' eyes grew even darker. "I left as soon as it started," Jason protested though his voice was not as strong as he would have liked and for some awful, humiliating reason, he felt his breath tremble and his eyes well up, entirely without his permission. What the hell was _wrong _with him?

"Are you injured?" Minos asked. He still had not released Jason's arm, gripping it even more tightly though it was unclear if he was aware of it or not. Jason shook his head, dismayed to feel his breathing hitch.

"It was behind me. I was well clear of it."

His stepfather narrowed his eyes. Abruptly he used his grip on Jason's arm to roughly spin the boy around eliciting a startled intake of breath from Jason. He felt the king reach for something on his back and then in his hair, gently pulling something out. Then he felt that same hand running lightly up and down his spine, assessing, probing, he presumed for injuries. When Minos turned him back around again to face him, his expression was stony, his eyes haunted. In his hand, he held up the large chunks of bark that had embedded themselves into the folds of Jason's clothes and into his matted hair. Not having realised they were there, Jason only stared dumbly at the evidence.

"Not _so_ clear of it, it would seem," Minos remarked, darkly. Then he sighed sharply and released Jason's arm. The boy fought the urge to rub at it. "Have you _no_ common sense?" Jason looked down to his feet. His arms wrapped themselves around his body – a comforting gesture that Minos usually disapproved of, though today he made no mention of it. Suddenly, the king sighed more gently and in calmer tones he instructed: "What matters is that you are safe. We must thank the Gods for sparing you. Had you been but a few feet behind…" He trailed off, unable to make himself finish the sentence. Shaking his head, Minos gently propelled Jason into his bedroom, stepping in after him, to stand at the threshold.

Looking at the boy now, he saw how pale and silent he was – how his trembling had not lessened, how he breathed in short gasps. "Sit down, Jason," he commanded softly. For a moment, he thought the boy hadn't heard him but after a short while he saw him move clumsily to sink down on his bed. Jason bent his head down to his chest, sitting very, very still. With awkward intent, Minos carefully approached the boy and placed a light hand on his shoulder. Jason did not look up. It seemed to Minos that he was suddenly drained of all energy as though a stopper had been pulled out of him.

"I shall send servants to your room with hot water for washing and then I shall speak to your mother. She will see you right." He patted the lad on the shoulder before stepping back from him. Weakly, aware that he had to make a response, Jason lifted his head just long enough to bring it back down again in a single nod. It seemed to satisfy Minos, however. Though as the King turned to leave, he noted the way Jason still sat, unmoving, shivering. It felt somehow wrong to simply leave him like this even in the time it would take to summon a servant to see to Jason's immediate needs. And so Minos took up the blanket, folded down at the bottom of Jason's bed. The boy was unresponsive to the movement, so much so that when Minos half lifted one corner of him, to pull the blanket free, Jason did not utter so much as an acknowledgement.

The only thing Jason was aware of was that it was some time later when he realised that king had gone, that he was still seated at the end of his bed and that he now had a blanket snugly wrapped around his shoulders, securing and warming him.

* * *

><p>Pythagoras listened to the rain against the roof and sighed. The house used to feel more cosy with a nice fire burning and the rain outside. The three of them would sit around the fire, listening to one of Hercules' stories, sharing a cup of warmed wine, teasing one another with loving good humour. But lately, the enclosed space seemed more like a cage. Sharing any space with Hercules and his brother always set his nerves on edge. When alone with Iphicles, Pythagoras could idle or chat away his time, quite happily. But the two brothers together, even when being cordial, always crackled with tension. Fortunately, though the storm forced them all inside and made escape to the balcony impossible, Iphicles had insisted on cooking the evening meal and was currently moving about the kitchen with surprising confidence. Pythagoras turned from his seat at the table, to put another log on the fire. The light from the lamps was still good enough to work on his triangles but if his fingers grew any number, he would no longer be able to hold his stylus.<p>

Turning back to his work, Pythagoras glanced up as a large shadow fell across his parchment. Hercules sat down next to him without preamble, plonking his cup down onto the table. Immediately, Pythagoras scrambled to move his work out of the way, frowning at his old friend though the expression went unnoticed. "Did you have a nice nap?" Pythagoras asked, a little testily, checking his work for any ring stains.

"Not a nap – just a moment of quiet contemplation."

"While snoring loudly."

"That was the wind." Hercules ignored the way his friend rolled his eyes and instead glanced over his shoulder to the kitchen. "Looks like he's cooking up enough to feed an army in there."

"Hmm," Pythagoras absently agreed, mind already half turning back to his triangles. "I imagine it will not go to waste." For a moment, an idea struck the young genius and he hastily crossed something out on his page and jotted down a long series of equations.

Hercules silently watched him work, baffled yet secretly impressed. It surely must make sense to _somebody_ outside of Atlantis? Someone in _Athens_, perhaps? Hercules immediately felt his mood darken. His brother had mentioned in passing, his offer to Pythagoras and it had immediately made his blood boil. He had no right – no right whatsoever – swooping in and disrupting their perfectly ordered and comfortable lives. The sooner his ship sailed, the better. Though the storm currently raging above their heads did not promise a departure any time soon. But as Pythagoras had not brought the topic of the job offer up, Hercules didn't mention it. The less they spoke about it, the less opportunity he gave Pythagoras to mull it over. Not that he thought his young friend would ever seriously consider leaving them – he loved his friends, loved his city too much. He'd be swallowed up in a big, bustling place like Athens – taken advantage of. But still, the wrestler had to admit that the job would be more interesting to the young man than the occasional guard duty they sometimes procured here. And he would have plenty of time to work on his blasted triangles and discuss his ideas with people who actually gave a damn. The offer _had_ to be just a _little_ bit tempting.

"You know, Hercules?" Pythagoras suddenly said, looking up from his work, a quizzical expression on his face. "I was taking a stroll with Iphicles this morning, before the storm brew up, and he was talking about his memories of what the city used to be like. I never realised how much he loves this city- how proud he is of it." He paused, watching the bigger man carefully. Hercules' mouth had set in a firm line and the hint of worry creased his eyes. "It made me wonder," Pythagoras ventured quietly, "why he left in the first place, if he loves it so."

For a moment, the young mathematician didn't think his friend was going to answer him. Hercules glanced away, looking quickly to where Iphicles still chopped vegetables and then back down to the table top. His fingers wound themselves around the wine cup, pressing tightly. Seeing the unease it caused, Pythagoras began to feel a little guilty for asking in the first place. But his curiosity was such that he couldn't quite bring himself to take the question back. Instead he tried to wait as patiently as he could, hoping Hercules would answer. And he did, eventually, leaning in to him and speaking in a low, quiet voice.

"Iphicles was a firm supporter of the old king, of Aeson. He never held with Minos – he hates him with a passion." Pythagoras raised his eyebrows. He had grown up with Minos on the throne but he knew of a few old timers would occasionally grumble or reminisce on the old days. But never with any real malice or venom. They were just too far removed from the usurpation for passionate feelings still to be flowing. From what Pythagoras could understand, one king was very much like another.

Hercules again checked the subject of their conversation could not hear them before continuing. "I told you he was a guard? Well he was a Royal Guard in Aeson's household. He worked closely with the king – one of his personal guards."

"Well then," Pythagoras exclaimed, eyes widening. "Perhaps Jason should know? He might have stories he could tell him about the old days? From what Jason tells me, I don't think Aeson likes to dwell on his Royal past and Pasiphae certainly never mentions it, I'm sure. And I'm also sure Iphicles would like to know that Jason is the son of the man he once served."

But Hercules shook his head so forcefully, Pythagoras was afraid he might pull a muscle in his neck or dislodge a bone. "Absolutely not!" He insisted, vehemently. "Iphicles is not what you would call… _rational_ about this matter. He's almost fanatical. If he found out who Jason is he'd launch a bloody crusade to turf Minos out and put the boy on the throne, whether Jason wanted that or not. Either that, or he'd try to put Aeson back on the throne if he found out he was still alive. And that would put Jason in danger. He'd rally half the city into marching behind him." Hercules' expression darkened grimly. "Trust me. He's got a way with words – a way of stirring folks up. He'd cause nothing but trouble, for all of us. Let's just keep our heads down until he's on his way."

He fixed his young friend with a deadly serious stare but it did not take much persuasion for Pythagoras to nod his earnest agreement. Jason had only just begun this path. To be pressured into it by someone else – into taking the throne right now or seeing his father pulled once more into the light and the world he had left behind – would be more than he could handle. No, Iphicles must not learn the truth. But, he considered, despite his fervour and his misguided intentions, the man's loyalty was touching. It was, Pythagoras considered, honourable. Could he bring himself to work for such a man? One who would leave the city he loved in honour of the king he served? Outwardly, Pythagoras let their conversation rest, as he turned his attention back to his triangles but inwardly, he realised that he could.

* * *

><p>The next time Minos visited Jason's room several long hours had passed. He entered to find the young man sitting up in bed, swathed in blankets, now pooled around his waist and with a tray of dinner of a warm, rich beef stew and bread resting on his lap. Pasiphae had, Minos knew, not long since seen it delivered and would not be far away, intent as she would be on its later inspection. She had only left to take her own meal in her apartments – having missed dinner with Minos and Ariadne - and to give the king the privacy he requested of her, to speak to her son. The boy looked, he was glad to note, a much healthier colour, was clean and dry and had mercifully stopped his trembling. He looked tired though – very tired and the occasional cough made him wince, though he tried his best to smother each one before it could bubble up from his chest. Near to Jason's small desk, the fire crackled and popped, sending the occasional log tumbling to the bottom of the pile. It was well stoked by a servant who regularly came and went and that was just as well for the rain still lashed against the window shutters and the wind howled and moaned furiously outside.<p>

Jason smiled shyly at him when he saw who his visitor was. Perhaps, Minos wondered, he was still a little embarrassed at the earlier scolding? The king felt a touch of guilt for how harshly he had reacted earlier but it had all been borne from worry and not anger. Hopefully, Jason would realise that.

"I am glad to see you looking better," Minos remarked as he approached. "Though I shall not delay your meal for long. However, once you have finished eating, I do believe your mother wishes for you to try to sleep so I thought it best have my talk with you while I still can."

Jason grimaced at the news though he had rather expected that an early bedtime was on the cards. "I thought as much," he remarked with a sigh. "My mother's already said I'm not to leave this bed until morning when the doctor comes back to give me _more_ gunk to rub on my chest." His face twisted for a moment. Then he turned wide, imploring eyes on the king. "Could you talk to her?"

Minos raised an eyebrow, pausing as he made to sit in the chair stationed by the head of Jason's bed. "To what end? To take your part?" He straightened, folded his arms and treated Jason to a firmly pointed look. "It will do you little good as I happen to agree with her."

Glancing about, as if to check she was not within ear shot, Jason leaned in to Minos, saying in a low, incredulous voice: "I think she's going to post a _guard_ outside my door to make sure I don't get up!"

"I _know_ she's going to post a guard outside your door," Minos countered smoothly, his lips twitching as he saw the boy's mouth hang open. "After your performance during the Games last month, can you really blame her?"

Closing his mouth and sighing heavily, Jason shook his head. "No," he admitted, with the faintest of grumbles.

As Minos lowered himself onto the chair, he looked more gently at his stepson. "She has been very worried, you know. It can do no real harm to rest for a few more hours, can it?"

Jason lowered his eyes to his dinner tray, guilt weaving his way into his chest. "No. No it can't." He _knew_ his mother had been worried. Since their earlier disagreement, he had been dreading her arrival, when the king had informed him he would be telling her. More so as it pertained to his health and in particular, to his exposure to the cold: a lecture that he had been on the receiving end of more than once. As Jason had waited in sheer trepidation for the queen to sweep into his chambers in a blaze of fury, his disorientated mind conjured up all manner of frightful images.

Yet when his door had gently opened and his mother had indeed swept into the room, far from the slap he had been expecting, or even a harsh word or an arched, impatient eyebrow Pasiphae had simply sat next to him on the bed and cupped his pale face between her hands, leaning forwards to kiss his brow and to whisper that everything was now alright. And it had been. She had left while he bathed with the warm water the servants had filled his bath with but returned later on to see him bundled into bed.

Even when his wits returned and Pasiphae had felt he was able to listen to a mild reprimand for his unwise choices, Jason had felt only her worry and her love. The two sides of Pasiphae merged seamlessly for him. She left no room for argument when she summoned the doctor to examine him, made it painfully clear that every last drop of the tonic would be drunk and every scoop of poultice applied to his chest and when Jason had asked when he might be allowed out of bed, he was left with no illusions that if he so much as put a _toe_ out of bed without permission, that toe would be returned to him at a later date. And yet, when the doctor had gone, this same woman had sat next to him at the head of the bed, her legs stretched out in-front of her and had pulled Jason to rest against her side in a one-armed embrace. Jason had felt warm next to her, safe and she had spoken softly to him, telling him tales of the constellations, running her fingers through his mop of hair until Jason had ended up lightly dozing against her.

After a moment Jason looked back up to Minos to find the king watching him with a mixture of concern and amusement and felt abruptly embarrassed. "So, uh. What did you want to talk to me about, Your Highness?" He swallowed down another sharp cough, eyes watering from the effort.

From the folds of his robes, Minos pulled out the same rolls of documents that he had been carrying earlier and placed them on the bed, next to Jason's tray. "These are petitions from the people to the law court," he explained. Jason eyed them curiously. He was vaguely aware that Minos presided over minor disputes that arose amongst the citizens of Atlantis, usually at the end of each month. A neighbour of theirs had once lodged a petition to have their case heard in the court – something a pack of stray dogs keeping them awake at night. None of them had been surprised when each month passed by and their case was never called. But though he knew of the process, Jason had never enquired about the mechanics of it.

"What can I help with?" Jason wondered. He was still trying to get his head around Atlantean Law and Politics and doubted he would be any good whatsoever in a court room. Acrion would no doubt agree with him.

As if sensing his thoughts, Minos smiled. "The next time I shall hear cases will be the day before the Haloea at the end of the month. After this, we break for a time for the Solstice and it shall be some months before the court reopens for anything other than the most serious of cases. And those are usually brought directly before me in the Palace." Jason nodded, not adding that he knew that only too well from personal experience. "I should like, therefore, to hear only the most urgent of cases in this last session. I do not wish to leave unresolved an issue that will grow and fester and cause undue tension in the coming months." Minos shook his head, regretfully. "Unfortunately, in these inhospitable climes, patience dwindles and the people are more quick to temper."

Jason nodded his understanding. "So," he ventured, hesitantly, "did you want me to look at them?"

"Indeed. I am sure you will understand the grievances on a more…personal level than I should. I would like you to read through the petitions and suggest an order of what should be dealt with first." The king rolled his eyes. "There are some of a clearly _less_ urgent nature than others but I trust you to know what will cause the most upset amongst the people."

Jason took a deep breath and Minos watched him carefully. "Does this seem acceptable? You know you may always ask my advice if you need it and your mother has a head for such matters, too." But Jason gave a small smile.

"No, it's fine. I don't mind. I just hope I do it right. When do you need the list by?" Jason immediately felt better, despite his lingering apprehension when he saw the relief and, perhaps also the pride, in Minos' manner. The king leaned back and smiled briefly as he stood.

"In just under two week's time I shall send out men to inform the relevant parties to prepare to be heard. Bring me your answers within a week and we shall proceed from there." Then Minos gathered up the papers and crossed the room to place them on the desk. Jason watched him go with a frown. He had been hoping to start leafing through them, curious as to what his new job entailed. The king just looked at him knowingly.

"Now, I believe you have a meal to finish and then a long night of sleep and I shall not be the one who keeps you from it." He touched the papers lightly. "These can wait until tomorrow."

Jason glanced away with a quiet sigh and a rueful smile. "Yes, Your Highness." And when it appeared that Minos still waited for some further sign from him, Jason took up his spoon again to the king's apparent satisfaction. Besides, Pasiphae would be back soon and it wasn't worth his life to delay any longer.

"Thank you for your help, Jason. I shall see you in the morning." With that, Minos left, leaving Jason to distractedly graze at his dinner before his mother's inevitable inspection.

* * *

><p>That's it for now. I hope you enjoyed it and that you're also enjoying the new series.<p> 


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